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harringtonstilinski · 29 days

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Pour Some Sugar On Me - Eddie Munson (Smut)

Author: @harringtonstilinski Characters: Eddie Munson x Henderson!Reader Word Count: 7,233 Warnings: fluff, squint super hard for angst, mentions of weed, using the hellfire club scene again bite me, trying to do more dirty talk so pls be gentle even though it's not much, Requested: no | yes; Smut (Minors DNI): no | yes, 18+; protected p in v, talks of masturbation, public, A/N: Hi, friends! The Upside Down doesn't exist in this. Also, the Party's in 8th grade, so no Hellfire members are mentioned except for Eddie. If you like this chapter, please do not hesitate to reblog and give some feedback, whether it be in the reblogs, comments, or my inbox. As always, read at your own risk and enjoy 😊

eddie munson masterlist

eddie munson playlist

“Please?”

“No.”

“Please?

“No.”

“Sweetheart, please!”

Sighing, you stopped walking to turn and face your best friend, your books clutched to your chest. “Why?”

“Because we need you!”

“I don’t know anything about D&D! Why would you make me torture myself with trying to learn how to play while you and the rest of Hellfire have been playing for literal years?”

Eddie went to open his mouth, but stopped short when he realized… you were right. He raised his brows with a frown on his face, an unimpressed look on his face as he agreed with you. “You’re right. That’s fair.” When he looked back at your figure, he noticed… you weren’t standing there at all, having walked away.

Following you, he exclaimed, “Sweets!” Resting his hand gently on your arm as he caught up with you, he took a breath and said, “Come on! At least just sit in your chair. You can read or do homework or watch us play. You love doing one of those.”

It was true. You did love doing one of those three things while they played. If you read or did your homework, you’d pause and watch them for a moment, and sometimes while you actually watched them, you’d lean your head on Eddie’s shoulder when he wasn’t being all dramatic to just rest your eyes for a moment.

He would never admit it, but that was Eddie’s favorite moment; your head leaned against his shoulder with your eyes closed, your breathing even as you’d fall asleep while he and the rest of Hellfire would play. As he looked at you, he was silently hoping that you’d do it again at this meeting.

As you sighed, you went to answer him, but your name being called had you looking towards the source, another sigh falling from your lips. “What, Steve?”

Jogging up to you, Steve smiled and asked, “Hey, you gonna come to the game tonight?”

When you looked back at Eddie, you saw how uncomfortable he was, and it was then and there that you made your decision. Looking back at Steve, you answered, “I can’t. I’m going to Hellfire tonight. I kinda owe Eddie.”

Said boy looked at you, shock in his eyes as you stayed looking at Steve, the latter nodding his head and smiling softly.

“Yeah, okay,” Steve said.

Resting your hand on his arm, you frowned, replying, “I’m sorry. I’ll come to the next game. Promise.”

He sighed, bringing you into a hug. “Okay, bug.” Kissing the top of your head, he sighed. Looking into your eyes, he reminded you to be good and not do anything he wouldn’t do, which in turn made you laugh.

When you turned to look at Eddie, he still had that same look on his face that he had while you were talking to Steve. “What?” you chuckled.

“You’re gonna come tonight?” he asked.

Starting your walk to your locker, Eddie followed as you replied, “Well, you wouldn’t stop bugging me about it, so…”

Eddie softly laughed behind you, taking quick strides to your side, putting his arm around your shoulders. “You know you love it.”

You couldn’t deny, you released a breath with a smile on your face as you answered, “Yeah. I do.”

~~~

“It’s forced conformity,” Eddie said, walking back across the table.

“Oh, my god, Eddie, get down,” you whispered, head hidden in your book.

He listened, but not like how you wanted. Instead, he jumped down and yelled, “That’s what’s killing the kids!”

Feeling totally embarrassed, you went back to reading and blocked out most of the events that happened after that, coming back to reality as he said, “And all you gotta do is get your Bo-Peep’s on and go and find one.”

When he took his seat back at the head of the table, you looked at him with furrowed brows, asking, “Get their Bo-Peep’s on?”

“Ya’know. Like Bo-Peep and her sheep?”

You looked at him for a moment before looking back at your book while saying, “You’re so stupid.”

All Eddie could do was chuckle, reaching into his lunchbox to retrieve a pretzel, a smile present on his face. As he chewed his food, his smile fell as a thought raced his mind. “Hey, sweetheart?”

“Hm?” you hummed, eyes still on the page, but your attention fully on Eddie.

“I have this, uhm… thing after school… in the woods.”

Well, that grabbed your attention. “What? I thought we were hanging out before Hellfire like we always do?”

“And we will,” Eddie said, reaching to lightly touch your forearm, his brows raised. “I just, uhm… have to meet someone… in the woods.” He didn’t want to admit to himself, but he loved touching you, within reason; your arm, your knee, your shoulder, grabbing your hand and kissing your knuckles like the romance movies. Honestly, he felt like he couldn’t get enough.

You looked at him as he quickly eyed his lunchbox before looking back at you, never having moved his hand. Sighing, you closed your eyes, focusing on Eddie’s hand resting on your arm to ground you. Hating to admit it to yourself, you loved feeling his touch on you. You often thought about it when you were up late at night, unable to sleep, thinking about what it would feel like for him to touch you while you pleasured yourself.

Eddie’s hand lightly squeezed where it rested on your forearm. “I know you don’t like it–”

“Eddie, I don’t just not like it,” you whispered. “I hate it.” Looking down, you couldn't help but feel emotional at the mention of his ‘side job’. When he had admitted to you one night that he had started selling weed, you got into a heated argument about it, your best friend telling you that he was doing it to help his Uncle Wayne.

You had understood his reasoning, but were more afraid of him getting caught selling it, or smoking it, or just having possession of it. He had assured you that he would get caught, and that he’d be safe with it. So far, so good.

“I know, sweetheart, I know.” Moving his hand to yours that was gripping your book, removing your hand to hold your fingers, almost like he was getting ready to kiss your knuckles like he did from time to time. Instead, he just held them, looking into your eyes. “I promise you, I’ll be done quickly. Just wait for me at the van, okay?”

Sighing, you nodded, closing your eyes. When you opened them back up, you looked Eddie straight in the eye and smirked before asking, “Can I sit in the back? With the doors open?” You knew he didn’t care and would say yes. Hell, he’d let you sit on the goddamn roof if you wanted to.

Softly laughing, he lowered his head before bringing your hand towards his face, his lips ghosting over your fingers as he lifted his head and whispered, “Anything for you, m’lady,” before kissing your fingers, a giggle erupting from you.

The entire time the two of you had your moment, the rest of Hellfire looked on with annoyed looks on their faces, each of them wondering if the two of you were ever getting together.

~~~

When the bell rang after lunch and in between classes, you carried on with your day like normal, only your anxiety started to spike at the thought of Eddie in the woods with his damn lunchbox during last period, and just like he did every day, Eddie was waiting for you by the front doors of the school.

As he watched you approach him, he held his arm out for you to take, muttering a “M’lady,” with a smile on his face, making you laugh like he did every day. He walked you to his van, opening the back doors for you before helping you hop inside. Deciding to make a bold move, he placed himself between your legs, his hands on either side of your outer thighs. “I’ll be right back, okay?” Shaking his head at you, he added quietly, “Don’t go anywhere.”

Your breath hitched as he stood before you before you nodded your head, saying just as quietly, “I won’t.” Holding up your book, you added, “I’ll just be sitting here reading.” When he leaned forward, you closed your eyes, feeling his lips on your forehead in a chaste kiss. Well, that was new.

He walked away, lunchbox in tow as he made his way towards the back of the school to the picnic table in the woods, where he met none other than Chrissy Cunningham. The entire time he was in the woods with her, he couldn’t stop thinking about you, constantly looking off in the direction of the school, a worried look on his face that didn’t go unnoticed by Chrissy.

“Hey, are you okay?” she asked.

Quickly looking back at her, he raised his brows before furrowing them while nodding, answering, “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. So, uhh… we gonna do this or what?” before his mind went back to you.

When you watched Eddie walk away, your facial expression went from one of nervousness to somewhat sadness. You were sad that he walked away from you to make a drug deal, moreso because he walked away. You wanted that moment with him to last, but as the universe would have it, you didn’t get what you wanted.

So, you turned your back to the wall of the van and leaned against it, bringing your knees up as you rested your book on your thighs, already lost in the words on the pages, the world of the book sucking you in.

As your eyes scanned the words of the scene you were reading, your mind couldn’t help but picture you and Eddie doing whatever the characters were doing, your bottom lip between your teeth.

You hadn’t even noticed two figures walking up to the back of the van and leaning against the bumper.

“Can you please remove your lip from your teeth?”

Well, that had your attention as you jumped about 10 feet out of your skin. Holding your chest with one hand and your book with the other, you looked at your little brother and just glared. “What the fuck, Dustin Wade?”

Chucklin, Steve asked, “Your middle name is Wade?”

It was Dustin’s turn to use that Henderson glare on his older male friend, responding, “Yes, it is. And what’s yours? Clarence.”

“Worse,” he answered.

“It’s Anthony,” you said, hiding behind your book.

Steve looked at you, mouth opened. “How dare you?” He said your middle name with such sarcasm, your face went from playful to annoyed.

“Go the fuck away.”

They both laughed, which in turn made you chuckle before you asked, “Okay, but seriously, what do you guys want?”

“We came over to ask you if it was okay if I went to watch Steve play,” Dustin said. “He said–”

“I can take him home right after,” Steve agreed.

With a confused look, you asked, “Don’t have to shower and celebrate with the team after?”

“He can take me after he showers or just changes,” Dustin suggested. He looked at Steve and added, “He can even shower at our house and stay the night.”

“Yeah, yeah! I can do that!” Steve said.

Narrowing your eyes at Steve, you said, “You better make sure he gets home, Harrington, or else I will spill your hair care routine to everyone in this godforsaken school, and maybe even the whole town.”

“Yup, I’ll leave right after the game.”

“Good.” Looking at Dustin, you said, “Please be good, no funny business, and tell mom to not wait up.”

“Where are you going?” Dustin asked.

Sighing, you crossed your legs, resting your hands in the middle, one of your fingers still in the pages of your book. “I’m going to Hellfire with Eddie tonight. He’s been working on this campaign forever and he wants me to be there.”

Both boys looked at each other, different expressions on each of their faces before Dustin turned to face you once more, saying, “Fair enough. You be good. Don’t make dumb choices.”

Chuckling, you uncrossed your legs, bringing your knees back up, saying, “Yeah, okay. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” they both replied, a genuine laugh spilling from your lips as your eyes went back to the pages. You weren’t sure how long you’d been reading for. The only thing you were sure of was the sun; it was high in the sky when you saw your brother and best friend, but had started to set when you thought Eddie wouldn’t return.

So, you crawled more into the back, finding the pillows and blankets he’d left in there. You crawled back to the spot you were just previously occupying, placing the pillow where your butt had sat, laying horizontally with the blanket draped over your body, your eyes falling shut.

As you drifted off to sleep, you couldn’t help but think about Eddie, a quiet “goddammit,” falling from your lips as you realized… you liked your best friend.

~~~

His meeting with Chrissy took a little longer than he expected. It basically turned into an instruction session before turning into a therapy session. As he walked back to the parking lot, he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

Chrissy helped Eddie open his eyes at his feelings for you. Even though he didn’t want to admit his feelings, he knew he would eventually have to. So, as he continued walking to his van, he ran a hand down his face, muttering a quiet, “goddammit,” to himself before rounding the back of the van, stopping dead in his tracks as he spotted your sleeping form.

He couldn’t help but watch as your shoulders and chest rose and fell with each breath you took. Sitting on the edge of the van, he reached out, lightly brushing a strand of hair away from your face causing you to stir.

When you opened your eyes, you looked at him and smiled a sleep smile in his direction before essentially… falling back asleep.

Eddie chuckled, resting his hand on your cheek, his thumb lightly rubbing along your cheekbone. “Sweetheart,” he whispered, a quiet hum being your answer to him. As he smirked, he said, “It’s almost time for Hellfire, baby. You still gonna sit and watch?”

Slowly opening your eyes, you breathed in a breath, tilting your head into Eddie’s hand that was still resting on your cheek. “Yeah,” you whispered. Sitting up, you let the blanket fall from your shoulder and bunch up at your waist. With furrowed brows, you looked at your best friend and asked, “What took so long?”

Sighing, Eddie moved to climb in the back of the van with you to retrieve his Hellfire bag. “Chrissy turned the sale into a therapy session after I explained everything to her about… well, ya’know.”

You nodded your head at the same time Eddie turned back around to face you.

“Anyway. I’d probably still be out there if she hadn't noticed what time it was, seeing as she has to be at the game and all.”

“Right,” you whispered, looking down at your book. Picking it up, you muttered, “I thought I put you up,” before you grabbed your backpack to put the book back in. You pulled the blanket off of you and went to fold it when Eddie’s hand stopped you, a shiver running down your spine at the touch.

“Don’t fold it yet,” he whispered.

“Why?”

“Because.” He wanted to say what was on his mind, but stopped himself, instead saying, “I know you get cold in the drama room. You can bring it to warm yourself up.”

A smile spread across your face as you tilted your head down, not wanting him to see the blush creeping on your cheeks. “Okay.”

After he jumped from the back of the van, he held his hand out to you, a smile on his face as he said, “M’lady?”

Chuckling, you slid off the back to your feet, hand still in his as you looked at him, saying, “You’re so stupid.”

~~~

Once the boys had everything set up and were sitting in their spots, Eddie took his place at the head of the table on, what he liked to call, his throne. You sat next to Eddie, sighing while draping the blanket over your legs, bringing them up to bend at the knee and tilting them to the side, letting your knee rest against the arm rest.

Just as you opened your book to pick up where you left off, Eddie said something about hooded cultists chanting something about lord Vecna.

“They turn to you, remove their hoods,” Eddie said, your eyes lifting to look at him from the corner of your eye. “You recognize most of them from Makbar. But there is one you do not recognize, his skin shriveled–”

As Eddie spoke and started to stand, you lowered your book, his voice sucking you in like a damn vice. He looked at you as he whispered, “Desiccated,” making you jump a little.

“And something else,” he said, softly, turning to the rest of the group. “He is not only missing his left arm, but his left eye!” After putting his left arm behind his back, he reached over his head with his right arm, covering his left eye.

The boys all protested while your brows scrunched in confusion as they started shouting their opinions from the last campaign.

“Vecna’s dead!”

“He was killed by Kas!”

Eddie looked at you with a smirk as he sat down before going back into his Dungeon Master character, as he liked to call it. “So it was thought, my friends, so it was thought.” Grabbing the Vecna playing piece, he stood and said, “But Vecna lives!” before playing the piece on the board.

“What the fuck?” you whispered.

“You are scared, you’re tired, you are injured,” Eddie said. “Do you flee Vecna and his cultists? Or do you stand your ground and fight?” He looked at you, leaning his hands on the table and asked, “What say you, princess? Do you think they’ll flee… or fight?”

You thought for a moment before shrugging, “If they’re not a bunch of pussies, that’d fight.”

His eyes slightly widened, his cock twitching at the dirty words that came from your mouth… or what he considered to be dirty. Looking back at his friends, he said, “Come on.”

After a few moments, one of them said, “I say we fight. Do the death,” everyone else around the table giving their agreements.

You watched as Eddie chuckled, a warmth in your belly starting to form. Deciding not to wait another day, you started to quickly form a plan in your head as to how you’d show Eddie exactly how you feel.

Eddie sat back down, happy with the turn of events. He knew that if you have your opinion, the rest of the group would agree to it. On the nights you weren’t there, they would lose the campaign and go home thinking of ways they could’ve won, as opposed to the nights you were there, they’d win, going with the opinion you gave.

When he needed inspiration for his campaign, Eddie would come to your house or call you to have you come to his trailer, just to sit and enjoy your company. You’d fall asleep half the time, but that didn’t matter to him. Your company was all he needed.

As you sat next to Eddie, half watching and half reading, you couldn’t help but think about the last few nights with him, sitting with him in his room while he wrote the campaign they’re all playing. The way he would pace in front of his bed, stopping at his Sweetheart to strum her strings before going back to the task at hand.

You couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have his hands hold you, touch you, feel you the way he did his guitar. You also couldn’t but wonder what his fingers would feel like, caressing your skin, tucking your hair behind your ear, lacing his fingers between yours. The third thing you couldn’t but wonder about… was his mouth, and what it could do to you.

When one of the members called for a time-out, you were brought out of your thoughts, not realizing that you were just staring at nothing on the page in front of you. A hand on your knee caused you to jump, looking down at the ringed finger on your best friend’s hand.

Looking up at him, you noticed the crease between his eyebrows as he asked, “You okay?”

Nodding, you took in a breath. “I guess I got lost in thought.”

“About what?” His hand was still there, on your knee.

You took a breath to reply, but stopped yourself from doing so as you furrowed your own brows, looking at the huddle at the other end of the table as you heard, “Vecna just decimated us. We can’t kill him with two players.”

Sighing heavily, you looked back at your book, your index finger between the pages to turn when you were ready. You could feel the eyes of the members on you as you read the words you’d read a million times that night before saying in a sing-song manner, “I wouldn’t be a bunch of pussies, if I were you.”

“Pussies? Really? ‘Cause we’re not delusional?”

“Delusional? How about… not cowards?” you shrugged.

Eddie’s voice yelling out, “Hey!” had your head quickly turning towards him, noticing he wasn’t sitting in his chair, but sitting on the armrest furthest from you. “If I may interject, gentlemen–” He looked at you with a smirk. “Princess.” Looking back at the boys, he continued as he switched armrests, “Whilst I respect the passion, you’d be wise to take Gregory the Great’s concern to heart. There is no shame in running. Don’t try to be heroes. Not today, ‘kay?”

They all turned back around as you looked back down at your book, chuckling to yourself.

“What’s so funny?” Eddie asked, bumping his ribcage with your shoulder.

“Nothing,” you said, a smile on your face. “It’s just–” You yawned, closing your book. “-nice to see you in your element.” Putting your book up, you felt like you couldn’t keep your eyes open. When you leaned back against the back of the seat, you brought your knees back up, having placed your feet on the ground when reaching for your bag.

Leaning your head against the back of the chair, you felt the blanket being draped over your form, your eyes falling shut, but you weren’t yet asleep when the boys came back to the table, standing at the end. You did, however, fall right asleep before they started to roll the 20 sided die, which was only a couple of minutes later.

Eddie’s sole focus was on that 20 sided die, he hadn’t noticed you fell asleep, head slouched over more to the point where your hairline was almost touching his throne. When the die said 20, the club cheered loudly, Eddie saying, “What? What?” before clapping and looking at your sleeping form.

“That’s why we play, princess,” he whispered. “That’s why we play.”

~~~

You woke up to the unmistakable sound of Eddie putting on his jacket, opening your eyes to catch him pulling his hair from under the leather before you sat up and started stretching, a yawn escaping you.

Eddie turned at the sound of your yawn, sitting back down in his throne, resting a hand on your arm. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said, a soft smile on his face. “How’d you sleep?”

Shrugging, you softly replied, “As good as you can in this chair,” before softly chuckling. “Did they win?”

He nodded, bringing his hand up to your face, brushing some hair from your face. “Crit hit.”

As you scrunched your brows, you tried to think of what the crit hit meant… and then it came to you. “Crit hit equals good thing.”

Proud that you remembered something he taught you, Eddie smiled a little bigger, nodding his head. “That’s right, princess.”

With your eyes locked on his, and his on yours, you brought your foreheads together, closing your eyes while sighing. “Eddie,” you whispered. “There’s something I need to tell you, and I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

He nodded against your forehead, his eyes having been closed. This was it, he thought to himself. She’s going to reject me. “I know, and it’s okay.”

Confused, you lifted your head while opening your eyes, looking at his crestfallen expression. “What’s okay?”

Eddie dropped his hand, letting out a heavy sigh while standing. He walked to the side of the table, bringing his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose while the other went to his hip, his back somewhat towards you. “The rejection,” he whispered. Trying to compose himself, he turned towards you a little, resting his hands on the table, much like he did earlier in the night. Hanging his head, he said, “Just get it over with.”

You had stood when the word rejection came from his lips. “Rejection? You think I’m rejecting you? Eddie, that was the furthest thing from my mind.” Bringing your hand up to cup his cheek furthest from you, you turned his head to face you, his eyes not following. “Eddie, look at me,” you whispered.

Sighing, he turned his eyes toward you, those chocolate brown eyes you loved so much staring back at you as your thumb moved across his cheek, gently stroking.

“What I was gonna say–,” you said, so softly. “-was that I really like you. Hell, I may even love you-”

“As a friend,” he gritted through his teeth.

“As more,” you said sternly. “Eddie, listen. I’ve had a crush on you forever. Don’t ask me when it started because I don’t even fucking remember. You’ve introduced me to so much; metal, D&D, a world outside of popularity and basketball.”

It was true. You were considered popular just by knowing Steve Harrington, who was still your best friend in the entire world. Eddie was an added bonus. Though your popularity status went downhill after everyone found out you were hanging out with Eddie The Freak Munson, that didn’t stop you from hanging out with him or Steve, the latter still calling you his best friend. You didn’t care about your popularity status. All you cared about… was being around people that made you happy, and those people… were Eddie and Steve, respectfully. Your main focus right now being Eddie and his happiness.

“I love you for that,” you whispered.

With wide eyes, Eddie looked at you. “You love me, then?” Looking at a spot on his denim vest, you thought it over for just a moment before smiling and looking back into those chocolate eyes, whispering, “Yeah. I do.”

“Thank God,” he whispered, pressing his lips to yours as he stood straighter.

It took you no time to kiss him back, your free hand coming up to cup his other cheek, your lips moving in sync as Eddie’s hands came to rest on your waist. His tongue traced your bottom lip, asking for entrance to your mouth, which you gladly accepted.

As if a magnet were in between the two of you, the both of you pulled each other closer, your hands going into his hair as his hands went to your back, gently rubbing wherever he could.

You pulled back first, needing some much needed air as you rested your forehead against his. “I’ve thought about this for a really long time, Eds.”

“Me, too, baby.”

Sparking up an idea, you rested your hand on his chest, looking into his eyes. “Don’t move,” you said, enthusiastically frisky.

When you walked toward the door, Eddie’s eyes followed your form, a mischievous grin on his face. “What are you doing, princess?”

“Oh, you know–” Click. “Just… locking the door.” You turned back to face him, back against the door for a moment, bottom lip trapped between your teeth with a smile as you looked at him.

Eddie knew he was in trouble just with that smile on your face. He felt his cock twitch his pants, the black denim growing uncomfortably tight as he looked at you. “And, why, pray tell, are you… locking the door?”

“So that I can do this,” you said, making your way over to him.

As a confused look crossed his features as you walked up to him, he shook his head, his hair swaying with the motion as he went to ask, “Wha–” before your lips pressed to his. He was shocked, to say the least, but finally happy to have your lips on his.

Snaking your hands into his hair, you sighed happily as your lips moved in sync with Eddie’s, his tongue sneaking out to ask for entrance to your mouth, which you gladly accepted. The moment your tongues touched, a soft moan escaped you, Eddie’s dick growing even harder than what he thought was capable.

“Damn, princess,” he muttered, kissing the corner of your mouth and cheek until he got to your neck. “You know how long I’ve been waiting for that?”

“Mmmmm,” you hummed, hand lightly resting on the back of his head as his lips searched for that sweet spot. Once he found it, you gasped, whispering, “Eddie! Right there.”

He went to work on your sweet spot, leaving a bruise there, licking at it to soothe it before kissing his way down to your collarbone, reaching with his hands to grab the hem of your shirt, lifting his head to look into your eyes, asking, “Can I take it off? If I’m gonna do anything else–”

“Yes,” you breathed. “Take it off. Take it all off.”

Eddie chuckled and shook his head, lifting your shirt up and over your head, revealing… a plain black bra. “Damn, sweets.”

“It’s not special or anything–”

“Still hot.”

“Because it’s black?” you smirked.

He chuckled again, dipping his head to kiss at the tops of your breasts, snaking his hand behind your back to unclasp your bra, the straps falling from your shoulders. Once the material had slid down your arms, he looked at you, mouth watering. “Damn, babe,” he whispered.

Deciding to be a little daring, you lightly shimmied your chest, a small smile on your face as you did. “Like what you see, Eds?”

“Oh, I very much like what I see,” he said, bringing his hand to the spot between your shoulder blades to pull you towards him, his lips descending to your nipple, wrapping around the bud.

As he licked and sucked, your hand found its purchase to the back of Eddie’s head again, leaving him there as moans and whimpers spilled from your lips. “Oh, my god.”

Breathing out a soft laugh as he switched to your other breast, he whispered, “I knew you’d like that.”

“Oh, you did, did you?” you asked, softly. Another moan made its way out of your throat at the feeling of his lips and fingers going to work on both of your nipples. “Mmmmm,” you hummed.

Eddie pulled back, palming your breast as he looked at you as he said, “Sure did, sweet thing. I’ve dreamt about this for a while.”

You rested your hands on his shoulders, looking him deep in his eyes before bringing a hand up to gently and softly cup his cheek, whispering, “So have I.”

He dove right in, pressing his lips to yours in a searing kiss, a full on make out session as you moved your hands to his shoulders, sliding his leather jacket and denim vest off his shoulders, his Hellfire shirt on full display.

The only time the two of you broke apart was for you to remove his shirt, his chest tattoos on full display. You looked at them, tracing over them, even though it almost caused fear in you to trace the spider tattoo.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, putting his hand over yours. “It’s just a tattoo.”

When you looked at him, he was softly smiling, which caused you to softly smile. “I know. They just creep me out.”

“I know what arachnophobia is, babe.” He smiled bigger before a small chuckle came from him causing you to roll your eyes.

Giggling, you leaned forward, resting your head on his shoulder. “ I know that, dork.” You slid your hands down his torso, making him breathe in a hiss before your fingers wrapped the top of his black jeans.

Eddie moved his hands to yours, bringing your hands to his belt. He never broke eye contact as he did. “Unbuckle it.”

You did as he asked, looking down to his belt, carefully undoing it and his button before sliding his zipper down.

He breathed out a deep breath, the pressure on his cock releasing a little.

Feeling brave, you decided to reach into his pants, wrapping his hardened length in your hand. “Fuck. I can barely touch my fingertips.” You chuckled, looking up at him, a look of disappointment crossing his features. “Don’t worry, babe. That’s a good thing. Means you’re big.” Biting your bottom lip between your teeth, you tried to be seductive, which worked because Eddie sucked in a breath. “I feel like you’re being submissive.”

“Nah,” he said. “Just letting you take the reins for a moment, swee– fuck.”

Your hand moving up and down had a moan escaping Eddie’s throat, his head being thrown back.

“Fuuuuuck, sweetheart. That feels amazing.”

Leaning forward, you placed your lips to his Adam’s apple, moving down his sternum and stopping where you couldn’t reach anymore before looking back up at his face, an almost fucked out look crossing his features. “You look so pretty,” you whispered.

“I’ll show you pretty,” he said, squatting to pick you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. “Get ready, princess. I’m gonna rock your fucking world.”

“Wha–” you asked, before gasping as your back met the table they had just played on, Eddie’s fingers grazing your sides before traveling down to the tops of your jeans. “Jesus, Eddie.”

“What do you want, princess?” he asked, skimming his lips across your stomach down to your jeans. Looking up at you with mischievous eyes through his lashes, he smiled a little, hearing and seeing your soft breaths quicken. “Tell me what you want. Tell me where you want me.”

“Mmm, on me,” you whispered.

As he unbuttoned your jeans, he whispered, “Where?” before kissing the imprint that the button left on your skin.

Letting out a breath, you looked down at him and whispered his name, your eyes full of pleading, as well as trying to tell him something. When it finally hit him after a couple of seconds looking at you, his eyes went a little wide as he picked his head back up.

“Are you a vir–”

“No,” you shook your head, swallowing your nerves. “I’ve had sex before. I’ve just never… dirty talked before. The last guy didn’t, either. Well, with me, at least.”

Eddie nodded softly before looking back down at your skin, placing another soft to it. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that, baby.” Another kiss as he unzipped your jeans. “I’ll take care of all that.”

When he tapped your outer thighs, you knew that was your queue to lift your hips, your nerves starting to show as you watched him remove your jeans, sliding them down your ankles… after sliding your shoes off, of course.

It was like he knew you wanted to close your knees, so before you could even think of doing it, he quickly placed his hands on the inner part of your knees, feeling your muscles tense. “Please don’t be shy, baby.”

He spread your legs a little further apart to slide his hands on the back part of your thighs, bringing them back around to your inner, essentially holding your thighs as he slowly dropped to his knees, bringing you further down the table.

“Tell me,” Eddie said, kissing the inner part of your knee. “Did those other guys worship you?” He watched as you shook your head, another kiss placed a little further down your thigh. “Well, shame on them, then. Because I’m gonna worship this pussy–” Kiss. “-like my life–” Kiss a little further down. “-depends on it.”

You went to say something, the words dying in your throat as a soft moan escaped your throat at the feeling of Eddie’s tongue licking a stripe up your core.

“Damn, sweetheart,” he whispered, licking another stripe, this time in between your lips. “You taste incredible.”

“Mmm, Eddie,” you whispered, bringing a hand to the top of his head, gently carding your fingers through the tendrils at the top of his head. “Right there.”

Eddie hummed, lapping at your core like a man starved. As he brought his lips to your clit, licking and sucking on it like it was his last meal, he let go of one of your thighs, bringing his fingers to your entrance. Releasing your clit, he gently rubbed it with his thumb, his fingers drawing big circles at your entrance. “You’re so wet for me,” he rasped. “I made you this wet?”

You giggled, gently scratching at his scalp. “You’re so stupid,” you whispered.

“That’s my girl,” he smiled, licking at your clit once again. He elicited a moan from you, your tossing back at the feeling of his fingers entering you.

“Holy shit,” you all but whined. You could feel the stupid fucking smirk on his face as he pumped his fingers in and out of your core. “Oh, my god, don’t stop.”

That only egged him on further; his fingers moved faster, and it seemed like his tongue was moving faster as well. Eddie was in full concentration mode, your whimpers and moans sounding like heaven to him.

“Oh, shit,” you moaned, looking down at him, seeing nothing but the mop of brown curls you loved so fucking much. “Eddie, I’m gonna cum.”

No words. Nothing came out of his mouth but his tongue licking at your clit relentlessly.

One… two… three more licks and quick pumps of his fingers and you were gone. Gripping his hair as hard as you knew he liked from the horseplay you two would find yourselves in, you came all over his fingers, his tongue wanting a taste.

Your back arched at the feeling of his tongue inside of you as far it could reach, your taste on his tongue.

When he was sure you’d ridden through your orgasm, he kissed his way back up your stomach and sternum, his nose brushing against your chin before his lips found yours, kissing you and letting you taste yourself.

Looking all over your beautiful features when he pulled away, you licked your lips as you slowly opened your eyes, those eyes he loved so much, you hummed and whispered, “Yummy.”

“Shit, princess,” he murmured, hissing when you reached back down to his length, his member still hard as ever. “Goddamn, I can’t wait anymore.”

“Then fuck me, Eddie.” You guided him to your entrance, his hand coming up to hold yours on his length.

“I won’t be able to hold back, baby. I’ve been waiting for this day for a long time.”

Nodding your head as you brought your hand up to cup his cheek, you said, “That’s okay. Give it to me, Eds.”

He kissed you as he pushed into you without warning, a loud gasp coming from your throat, your head tossing back as far as it could on the table.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, loving the full feeling you were getting. “You’re so fucking big.”

“You’re so fucking tight,” he gritted, holding back so much.

“Let go, Eddie, it’s okay. I can take it.”

Pulling his hips back, he looked down at where the two of you were connected before snapping his hips back into yours, a cry of pleasure meeting his ears.

“Fuck! Do it again.”

He didn’t need to be told twice as he pulled his hips back, snapping them back with yours, repeating the motion. “You feel so fucking good, baby. It was like this pussy was made just for me.”

“Yep, whatever you say,” you replied, voice shaky from the bounces your body was taking with each thrust of Eddie’s hips. “Shit, don’t stop. Mmmm, I’m almost there.”

You went to touch your clit, a whimper escaping you at the feeling of Eddie’s finger circling your sensitive bud. “Just like that,” you breathed. “Don’t fucking stop.”

“Shit, I’m not gonna last much longer,” Eddie groaned. “F-fuck.”

“Cum, Eddie. Cum with me,” you cried out in pleasure.

“Are you–”

“I’m clean, I’m on the pill, and I’m sure, just–” Moan. “Just cum, Eddie, just– oh, my god, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t–” Another moan filled the air as your second orgasm shot through you, Eddie’s not far behind.

Not wanting to crush you, he rested his weight on his forearms by your head, his forehead resting on yours, both of your eyes closed and heavy breaths mingling. “That… was… amazing.”

“Sure as fuck was,” you agreed, releasing a breathy chuckle.

Eddie’s own breathy chuckle blew over your face before he sighed. Placing his lips on yours again, he took a breath through his nose before pulling slightly back with a small smack from yours lips disconnecting. “I have to pull out of you. I’m kinda growing soft here.”

Giggling, you nodded your head, saying, “Okay,” before whining at the loss of him filling you up. “I miss him already.”

“Who?”

“Your dick.”

He looked at you, confused before bursting out in laughter, your own joining him.

When the two of you were dressed and looking a little fucked out, you helped with his campaign books, carrying them with your own book and his blanket in one arm, the rest of his D&D stuff in his own arm, his free one wrapped around your shoulders, your own free arm wrapped around the middle of his back.

As the two of you walked back to his van, you couldn’t help but smile the whole time, happy that you finally got the boy you’ve been dreaming of.

“So,” Eddie said, after helping you into the passenger seat of his van. “What do you say to me getting high, and then us going to Benny’s for a bite?”

“Uhm, yes to the second as long as I meet my curfew, no to the first because you could actually get caught and I can’t have that.”

“Why not?” he asked, almost whining like a child.

“Because I just got you. I can’t risk losing you to something like weed.”

“But… it’s how I’m–”

“Able to help Wayne, and I adore you for that, but Eddie… it’s not smart to smoke and drive.”

“But - but -”

“No buts.”

Raising a brow at you, while turning his head slightly to the side, he said, “They’re for goats.”

You couldn’t help but grab onto his jacket, pulling him closer to you to press your lips against his, but not before giggling, “You’re so stupid.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N 2: hi, friends! let me know what you thought! again, please do not hesitate to reblog and give some feedback, whether it be in the reblogs, comments, or my inbox.

Additional Notes: i should've titled this you're so stupid 'cause they said it a lot, lol. so!, just know that if you come into my inbox and ask about you're so stupid, i will be referring to this fic, lol, unless i title another fic you're so stupid.

~~~

Forever / Everything Taglist: @stiles-o-dylan24 @stixnstripesworld @fandom-princess-forevermore @quanticobae @mischiefandi @kellyashcroft @lauren-novak

If you’re tagged and didn’t want to be, please let me know.

Italics wouldn’t let me tag!

~~~

*Please don’t post my writing anywhere else without my consent. The author of this work will always and forever be @harringtonstilinski.

All characters, story lines, and plot aside from y/n and her storyline & plot, are all of the work of The Duffer Brothers.

*These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited.

No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

Posted on March 29, 2024

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x henderson!reader #eddie munson smut

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a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 8 months

Note

Could I please request Thranduil with a breeding kink with the lavender field prompt? 🔥🔥 thank you so much!! Your writings lift my spirits!

Here you go!

"Lavender Haze"

Pairing: Thranduil x Fem. Reader (elf/second person POV) | Location: Greenwood the great

Themes: Smut | Soft

Word count: 1.6k words

Summary : A game of hide of seek take place in a lavender field. What price will the loser have to pay?

Rating: 🔥🔥 | Minors DNI | 🔞 | You are responsible for the media you consume

Rules and tag form here | Prompts for requests here

A lavender haze.

That was all you could see in the periphery of your vision—an endless haze of the richest lavender swaying with the wind. The blooms rustled, murmuring with a hushed voice of their own every time the wind rose. It was sheer happenstance when you came across this field of wild lavender. Thrilled with this new find, you made haste to ride back to Amon Lanc and tell its prince. Thranduil listened with rapt attention and insisted that you take him there. No one knew of such a field, and he wanted to see it with his own eyes.

The prince came. And he saw. And believed. And a merry chase then ensued. No one besides the two of you knew of this little slice of paradise, and Thranduil wanted to make the most of it. Others would learn of the field's existence soon enough, and the opportunities to be alone within it would grow sparse.

You ran and ducked behind tall bushes. Hid behind the thick trunks of gnarled trees with branches so low they kissed the soft grass that grew beneath them. And Thranduil chased you still, calling out for you and searching for you, the heady rush of the chase working its magic on him.

"Where are you, meleth?"

You clapped your hands over your mouth and kept still. Thranduil was close to the oak tree you were hiding behind. You could not hear his footsteps; the prince moved like a wraith, not making a single sound. You press against the bark of the tree, wondering if he heard you or if he knew where you were hiding.

"Meleth?"

It was as if he were further away now, but you keep yourself concealed anyway. When it sounded as if he had moved quite a distance, you peered around the tree, pleased to find him no longer there. You take off again, giggling and smug, confident you have thrown him off your trail.

"There you are!" Thranduil ran in from behind and threw his arms around you. He cackled when you squealed and squirmed and tried to free yourself from his hold. His moving away from where you were had just been a sly trick. He was there the entire time, hidden, waiting for you to come out into the open.

"Th-thranduil!" Giddy laughter ripped through you when you tried and tried, and he simply continued to carry you deeper into the field. "Let g-go!"

"No!" Thranduil's laughter mirrored yours. He listened to you grumble and plot your escape, and laughed again, louder this time. "Yield, meleth. Escape is futile. Surely you know this by now."

"Never!" That never lasted no more than a few moments, when you realized you would not be able to extricate yourself from his vise-like grip no matter how hard you tried. You give up and go limp against him.

Thranduil sets you down amidst fragrant purple blooms. "Now, tell me. What was our wager again?"

"If I win, you are to be my slave for the turn of a moon," you answer quickly, more than a little disappointed that losing the wager meant not having Thranduil wait on you hand and foot. Literally.

Thranduil smirked, clearly pleased with himself. "And if I win?"

"I am to let you have your way with me. In whatever way you desire."

"A prospect that does not disappoint you, yes?"

You huff and cross your arms. How easy it was for him to read you! "It does not."

Thranduil smiled wolfishly and sat down, extending his hand to you. "Come, meleth. It is time to pay the piper, so to speak."

You narrowed your eyes and made yourself comfortable next to him, lying down on the grass as you did so. The sky was beautiful, all puffy white clouds against a field of the palest, clearest blue. You rest your head over your folded arms and watch while they stay low and move slowly. Thranduil is content to watch you. He lays down beside you, an enchanting smile slowly working its way across his face when you turn to face him. His eyes light up when you smile in return.

"I will pay," you reply with a grin.

Thranduil beamed and leaned forward, the sweetness of his kiss pouring into your throat when his mouth opened over yours. Deft, experienced hands worked on the clasps and lacing on your robes. Your gown loosened beneath his touch. The prince helps you out of your clothes, barely taking a moment to marvel at the sight of you exposed. Thranduil then sat up, his clothes rustling while he rid himself of his tunic and undershirts, belt and sash and boots. They all joined the growing pile by the side. He slipped out of his breeches, sighing in relief when his throbbing cock sprang free. He did not give you time to even think or breathe. He simply captured your lips with his.

Your nerves were aflame; every inch of you was heated and sensitive to his touch. And you were bold, reaching out to ghost a finger over the crown of his member. Thranduil moaned lustily and drew away, content again to watch, this time while you took him into your hands. He moved his hips, thrusting in time with your strokes. The warmth and frenzy of your pace were unceasing. It nearly undid him and almost made him cum all over your hand.

"Not like this." Thranduil loosened your grip and pushed you onto your back. "I would much rather finish inside you."

He was so warm when he lowered himself onto you—slowly and carefully—and tried not to lose control of himself and hurt you. He did not enter you immediately. Thranduil kept still while you touched his face and his hair, and ran your hands over his arms and chest and back. The prince was perfect, like an exquisite marble sculpture come to life.

"Mine," you declare without even hesitating. "All mine."

Joy welled within Thranduil's heart. "As you are mine," he exclaimed with pride before dipping his head.

He kissed with tenderness, then hunger, then fury, when your mouth parted for the warmth of his sinful tongue. Thranduil knitted his tapered fingers around yours, moaning into your mouth when your free hand slid around his waist and nails dug into his flesh.

"Naughty girl," he breathed wistfully. "Now open those beautiful legs for me."

He groaned under his breath when your legs slid open and hooked around his hips. Thranduil pushed in, inch by agonizing inch, sinking his shaft into your slit. The prince was built bigger than most, and you felt it in the pressure around your core. He kept still, his chest heaving and his heart racing wildly, while you adjusted to his size. Arousal pooled in your belly when even the slightest movement sent shock waves shooting up your spine like lightning. You no longer wanted him to stay still. You wanted him to move.

"I am ready."

Thranduil's pace was merciless. He rutted into you like a wild beast, growing drunk on your transported moans.

"Look at how well you take me," he cries against your throat. "It is as if you have been made for me."

All you could do was hold onto him while he bucked his hips against the insides of your thighs. "Perhaps it is because we were made for each other."

"Yes," Thranduil agreed. "Meant for each other. You are mine, just as I am yours. We belong together."

His grip on your hand tightened. He plunged deeper and harder. It made you see stars. "More," you plead shamelessly. "More. Please."

Thranduil grunted softly. "Look at you. Listen to how desperate you sound. Should I deny you?"

"No!" you keen. "Please do not do that."

"Pathetic." Thranduil hissed hoarsely, his hips now undulating every time he thrust. "But I suppose I will concede to your plea. I am going to finish inside you, so you know who you belong to."

"Please." The knowledge of him filling you with his seed unraveled you. "Do it. Please."

He nearly fell apart when he heard. Thranduil let go of your hand and gripped your chin, forcing you to open your eyes and look at him. He wanted to see how your words could undo him. "Are you ready?"

You did see. You saw how his eyes had darkened and how raw, unbridled lust flashed in them. And you were so ready for him.

"Yes," you sob in relief. "So ready."

Thranduil ran his tongue along the curve of your throat. It made you tremble beneath him and whimper against his shoulder. His thrusts grew erratic and relentless. It sent you spiraling and made the world grow dark in your eyes. Thranduil gasped sharply while your walls contracted and milked his cock. It shattered him and made his orgasm rip through him. He glanced at your belly, his thoughts running riot with visions of his spend filling your cunt. It heightened the bliss he was already drowning in. With one last, satisfying grunt, he came to a stop, his arms and body trembling from the exertion.

Nothing could be heard save for the wind rustling through flowers and leaves and the deeper sound of ragged breathing. Thranduil slowly moved onto his back, taking you with him. You sighed in contentment while he held you against his chest. When you moved, he stopped you.

"Keep me inside you a little longer," Thranduil insists. "Just a little longer, then you and I can go for a swim in that pond nearby."

#thranduil #Thranduil smut #Thranduil x reader #Thranduil imagine #greenwood the great #x reader #x reader insert #reader insert #reader requests #reader insert request #💫a world of whimsy writes

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katiexpunk · 6 months

Text

Sugar, Spice & Please Fuck Me Nice | Pairing Neighbor!Joel Miller & Fem!Reader

Summary: Part 3 of @sydneyinacoma's Sugar, Spice & Please Fuck Me Nice series. Joel is your new hot neighbor and after a sexy night alone with him on Halloween (where he literally makes you squirt (!!) on his couch, you run into him after a long week at work and you two finally go on a proper date. You two eat burgers; go to a fair, and then he fucks you like it's his last day on earth. Yep <3

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Word count: ~6.7K Warnings: Pining, flirting, 2000s style (needs a TW lol), Joel is a little rough/bossy, unprotected p in v (wrap it up, folks, or don't idk you're not gonna listen to me anyways), creampie, blowjob, pet names, praise kink, Joel spits in readers mouth, fair date, eating, did I already say flirting, bobbing for apples. Listen, these two are just down so bad for each other. There are no descriptions of reader except for clothing & wet, curly hair. Authors Note: I legitimately feel so honored to have been part of this chapter with my Slutty Smutty Sister @sydneyinacoma -- writing this version of Joel has me creaming, and I wish I could scream it from the rooftops how much I want everyone to read this fic. This version of Joel is all her brainchild and I could cry at being part of it. Pls go follow Syd, she's seriously such a gem and probably the best Moot and friend a girl could ask for. ILY, bb. Sydney's Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Word count: ~6.7K Warnings: Pining, flirting, 2000s style (needs a TW lol), Joel is a little rough/bossy, unprotected p in v (wrap it up, folks, or don't idk you're not gonna listen to me anyways), creampie, blowjob, pet names, praise kink, Joel spits in readers mouth, fair date, eating, did I already say flirting, bobbing for apples. Listen, these two are just down so bad for each other. There are no descriptions of reader except for clothing & wet, curly hair. Authors Note: I legitimately feel so honored to have been part of this chapter with my Slutty Smutty Sister @sydneyinacoma -- writing this version of Joel has me creaming, and I wish I could scream it from the rooftops how much I want everyone to read this fic. This version of Joel is all her brainchild and I could cry at being part of it. Pls go follow Syd, she's seriously such a gem and probably the best Moot and friend a girl could ask for. ILY, bb. Sydney's Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2

NOV 2005

You can’t stop thinking about that night at Joel’s a week ago. The way he touched you, pleasured you in a way that you've never experienced before. The way he kissed you, fervently yet soft. You could kiss him for hours and never tire.

Not only are you craving his touch, but you also find yourself wanting to learn more about him. You want to know him. The things you’ve learned about him through Sarah and what you’ve picked up on are tiny crumbs, leaving you starving for more.

You hope he feels the same.

You haven’t had a chance to talk to Joel since that night, as you’ve been drowning at work. You started working for this publishing firm in college, first, as an intern, and now that you’ve finished school, you’re an editor. You agreed to take on extra responsibilities due to your coworker being out on maternity leave, which has exponentially increased your workload, on top of your boss being a micromanaging asshole. Joel’s been burning the candle at both ends. He’s working against a tight deadline on a big project for a persnickety client and Sarah’s soccer team is in the playoffs for the district championship; he’s incredibly proud but attending her neverending roster of games has left him a bit preoccupied. He never thought he would end up being a soccer dad, but life has a funny way of keeping him on his toes.

Much like you, he’s replayed you squirting on his leather couch in his mind over and over, a never-ending lascivious reel that plays in his head as he fucks his cock at night. Joel longs to hear those saccharine sounds you make while you ride his cock, your tits bouncing in tandem with your movements. He’s kicking himself for not getting his hands, or mouth, on your pillowy breasts. The cheekiness of forgoing a bra in your bunny costume revealed a side of you that he wants to unleash.

He wants to know everything; what keeps you up at night, what makes you double over in laughter, your ticklish spots, which movies make you cry without fail, all of your little quirks. Hell, he even wants to know if you believe in aliens.

+++

You pull into your driveway after a long, grueling day at work. Your brain is so fried you didn’t even turn the music on for the drive home; a rarity for you since you always have music playing in your car, whether it be the FM radio or one of the various CDs you’ve collected over the years. A true indicator of your current state of being. You can’t wait to veg out on the couch, rid your mind of this shitty week, and huddle into an antisocial ball.

After a few moments of idly sitting in your car, you peel yourself from the driver’s seat and go to retrieve your work tote from your trunk when you hear a deep voice calling out to you, one you’d recognize anywhere. You turn in the direction of the sound and find Joel. He’s clearly working on a renovation project; a miter saw, lumber and a plethora of other tools are set up in his front yard. There’s another man with him, bearing a slight resemblance to Joel. Brothers, maybe?

“Hey, neighbor!” Joel immediately regrets his word choice, finding it oddly stiff — considering he’s had his face between your thighs.

“Hey Joel!” You manage to shout back, despite your energy battery being crucially depleted.

He waves for you to come over. Unfortunately, or fortunately, you’re unable to resist him. Not when he’s covered in a sheen of sweat, hair tousled, and coaxing you across the street.

Though you feel drained, being in close proximity to Joel makes your body thrum in nerves. You’re being energized by anxious attraction.

Joel and the mystery man greet you at the edge of the yard.

“This is my brother Tommy. Tommy, this is my neighbor.”

“So, this is the pretty neighbor you were tellin’ me about,” Tommy says, his southern drawl identical to Joel’s.

Joel glares at Tommy. If looks could kill.

Tommy holds out his hand, you tell him your name and give him your hand for a brief shake; much like Joel’s does, his palm size is large in comparison to yours and envelops your full hand. You survey the man in front of you; handsome, dark curly hair like Joel, slightly longer and free of the grays his brother sports, deep brown eyes, similar to Joel’s. The Miller genes are super fucking strong.

“Nice to meet ya, sweetheart,” he says, nodding his head in acknowledgment, his eyes dragging over your figure just a second too long.

“I’m gonna start packin’ these tools up,” Tommy announces to Joel and then shoots him a wink. It’s obvious he wasn’t aiming for subtlety, clearly wanting to give you and his brother a moment alone.

Joel shifts his broad frame to face you directly. You wish you didn’t feel so bashful in his presence, but it’s hard to breathe evenly when he is standing so close you can smell him - earthy and a hint of his deodorant wearing off. It should be gross to you, but you want to put his scent in a candle. You’re fucking deranged.

“Sorry, ‘m all sweaty…” Joel apologizes, looking down at himself, remembering that he probably reeks like a locker room.

You wave off his apology, giggling at his self-awareness.

“I wanted to ask you somethin’,'' Joel says, gently wrapping his hand around your arm right above your elbow. Goosebumps erupt on your skin at the touch of his calloused fingers.

“Okay…”

“I was wonderin’...” Joel pauses, his fingers now grazing over the soft skin of your arm.

You gulp in anticipation. “Yes, Joel?”

“I was wonderin’ if you’d like to go on a date with me,'' he asks, his eyes dropping to his boots for a second before coming back up to meet yours, “a proper one.”

You’re so giddy at his proposition you think you might burst.

“Well, you know…I’ve gotta check my calendar,” you say, a big grin plastered on your face. You see his face drop, but before he can sulk too much you wink at him and say, “yeah, I’d love to,” you exhale and try to keep your voice level, not wanting to give away how excited you actually are. A date. With Joel Miller.

“You free tomorrow?” he asks, beaming, revealing the dimpled smile you’re so fond of.

“Lucky for you, I am,” you say, feeling your skin warm.

“Pick you up at 7?” he asks, dipping his face closer to yours, his hand now on your waist pulling you into him.

“Works for me,” you confirm while planting a chaste kiss on his cheek, “see you then, neighbor!” you conclude, being sure to emphasize the neighbor in your words, and before he can convince you to stay, you’re sauntering across the street back to your house.

+++

It’s finally here. Your big date with Joel.

The day went by torturously slow, anticipation pulsing through your entire body. You spent almost two hours getting ready, the majority of the time trying to pick an outfit. You probably changed 30 times, trying to find the outfit that conveyed the perfect balance of sexy, yet subdued.

You decide on a pair of dark wash flares and a lacy top, both accentuating your figure heavenly. You spritz on a little perfume you save for special occasions. If this ain’t a hell of an occasion.

Joel, with impeccable timing, rings the doorbell right as you tug your black cowboy boots on. It’s sill relatively warm in Austin, so you decide to forgo a jacket.

Opening the door, you and Joel take a moment to check the other out, neither of you trying to hide it whatsoever. Joel’s wearing his signature jeans and a green flannel with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, exposing his veiny, strong forearms. You’d hump his arms given the opportunity.

“Absolutely stunnin’, sweetheart,” he licks his bottom lip while his brown irises roam over your entire body, paying special attention to your waist and tits. You’re mentally patting yourself on the back for your outfit choice.

“One could say the same for you, cowboy,” you quip back, a smug grin plastered across your face.

Your smile shoots blood straight to Joel’s cock.

He swallows as he realizes the night is just beginning.

+++

Joel takes you to a quaint diner for your date. From the outside, it’s unassuming; an older building in urgent need of a pressure wash, adjacent to a virtually empty shopping center. A true hole-in-the-wall in the middle of downtown Austin.

“It doesn’t look like much on the outside, but I promise ya, they got the best damn burgers in town,” he assures, seeing the questioning look on your face when he pulls into the parking lot.

You and Joel slide into a booth in the far corner, Joel insisting that booth seating is part of the experience. You both order burgers, per his recommendation and boy, it does not disappoint.

Between bites of food, you and Joel learn more about each other. The conversation flows easily, both hanging onto each other’s every word; no awkwardness or feigning interest. You both share parts of your childhoods and you share stories from your college days. Joel recounts the mischief he and Tommy got into when they were younger, earning several belly laughs from you.

Joel loves the way you laugh; candidly, throwing your head back, your shoulders jerking uncontrollably as you try to catch a breath.

You’re pleased to learn that both you and Joel have a fondness for 80’s action movies, especially the over-the-top-borderline-cheesy ones, and 70’s artists like Fleetwood Mac and Electric Light Orchestra.

Joel asks about your job as an editor. You tell him the different types of manuscripts you have to read; some you drudge through, others you enjoy. “I love seeing how the story progresses from the first rough draft up until the final copy,” you tell him,” a lot of authors are really full of themselves, so you have to boil down a lot of the flowery language and hubris.”

In return, he tells you about how he got started as a contractor, hard work rewarded him with promotions until he opened up his own contracting business six years ago. “It’s priceless gettin’ to be your own boss,” he says, “not havin’ to answer to anyone, can be more selective in projects you wanna take on,” he continues, and you swear you’re listening but you’re secretly caught up in the sound of his voice and the way his lips move when he’s talking; hypnotizing you with every word.

Joel opens up about when Sarah came into this world; the happiest day of his life while simultaneously being scared shitless — he was wild and ungovernable, definitely not ready for fatherhood.

Through the years he’s found his rhythm. He doesn’t talk about her mother and you don’t ask; you’re not looking to dig into that lore on the first date. He tells you what Sarah was like as a baby and the subsequent years. Your heart melts at the adoration and pride that glow in his eyes when he talks about his daughter.

You both sit in the overused booth, totally absentminded to the world around you. You’re both locked into one another, afraid of missing even the faintest shift in facial expressions. You might as well be the only two people here.

Taking the final bite of your burger, you tell Joel that you’re inclined to agree that these are the best burgers in town.

He mumbles something to the effect of “told ya,” before finishing his last bite.

On the ride home from the diner, you spot an illuminated Ferris wheel, glowing in the distance of the Austin night.

“Oh, I didn’t know the fair was still in town. I haven’t been in years!” exclaiming a little loudly for a woman your age, “can we…..?”

Joel can’t say no to you, not when you’re giving him a pleading, pouty look.

+++

Once inside the fairgrounds, you both walk through the selection of vendors, and it doesn’t take long for the funnel cake sign to catch your eye; Joel purchases you one and you continue on your adventure together.

“Here,” he says, offering you a paper napkin.

You gently shake your head, shoving another bite of funnel cake into your mouth, “don’t need one.”

He laughs. You look like a stubborn child learning what sugar is for the first time, “you’re gonna get all sticky,” he says, a big grin enveloping his face, your eagerness for the sweetness of the battered dough reminds him of Sarah’s sweet tooth. God, you’re cute – it makes him wish she was with you both tonight.

Well, that is until he notices it. It’s subtle, but it’s there – a sprinkling of powdered sugar on your cheek and exposed chest.

He knows this is a family event, but he wants to do anything but PG-rated things with you right now.

He stares at the white dust on your skin until your voice catches his attention again.

“Maybe I want to be sticky,” you reply, “gives you more to lick off of me later.”

And fuck, if that doesn’t turn him on.

The thought of his tongue on you sends a flood of impure thoughts to his brain; much like the ones he had when you first showed up at his door, covered in remnants of flour, all sugar and sweetness.

He knows now.

You may be sugar, but fuck, if you haven’t got some spice in you, too.

+++

As you stroll, your eyes grow wide when you see it; a yellow wooden sign with the words “bobbing for apples” in Comic Sans engraved into it.

“Ah! Joel! Bobbing for apples! I haven’t done that since I was a kid – we have to do it!” you say, your voice is a little too eager and a little too high-pitched, but the childlike wonder on your face is all the convincing that Joel needs. He might not admit it, but he’d give you anything you want. You reach out for his hand, and he takes it, letting you lead the way.

You and Joel make your way up to the station, and a fair worker in an apron and a straw hat shouts to the crowd, “Come one, come all! Test your skills at an apple grab; the winner gets a prize,” his voice is low in octave but loud enough like he’s speaking through a megaphone.

A line of fair-goers of all ages quickly forms around the barrels filled with water and apples, and you look at Joel with eager eyes as you step up to yours.

The rules of the game were explained by the worker with a chuckle, “Alright, folks, no hands, just your teeth. Lean in, and bob for an apple, and what you catch is yours to keep plus a prize from the booth to the right.”

“You sure about this, sweetheart? You’re gonna get all wet,” Joel asks, probably just a smidge too concerned about your well-being considering it’s just bobbing for apples.

“You gonna act like you don’t know that I’ve been wet this entire night?” you say, not waiting to hear his response as the worker calls out a loud “GO!”

Giggles and cheers fill the air as you and your fellow participants lean over the barrel. Your face disappears into the water; your competitiveness in overdrive – edging yourself deeper and deeper into the water; so far that your shirt gets soaked. You don’t care, though, and you gleam from satisfaction as you resurface with a gleaming red apple held triumphantly between your teeth.

The crowd erupts in applause at your efforts, and Joel stands watching you with his hands on his hips, a smile plastered on his face. As his gaze drops from the apple in your mouth, he notices the wetness of your shirt and shit, you’re positively drenched.

It takes Joel all of .0002 seconds to notice the silhouette of your nipples peeking out from your shirt, the goosebumps littering your skin, and the tail ends of your hair wet and starting to curl under the weight of the water.

You drop the apple from your teeth and catch it in your palm. “Well, well…looks like you’re on a date with a prize-winnin’ apple picker. Feeling lucky yet?” you tort, attempting to flirt through the uncomfortable press of the damp fabric on your skin.

“Sweetheart, I’ve seen that mouth in action, I already knew you were going to win,” he says, “but you know I’d never thought I’d see the day…” he trails off.

“What do you mean?” you ask, slightly confused.

“Never thought I’d see the day that I was jealous of a fuckin’ Red Delicious apple,” he says, humor behind his voice, “s’ashame I wasn’t the one you were bobbin’ for in that barrel.”

“Listen, if you want to get wet and let me put you in my mouth, I am more than happy to accommodate,” you reply back, your voice flirty and suggestive.

Joel doesn’t respond, but you see him palm himself through the denim of his jeans at your suggestion, interjecting his thoughts.

You can’t hide the shivers that take over your body from the chill of the night air and the wetness of your clothing.

“C’mere, baby, you’re freezin’,” he says, brow furrowed, and arms wide open stretched out to you, beckoning you into his large arms. You take a step forward and step into his brace, letting yourself melt into the warmth of his arms and the aroma of his natural scent.

You stand there, wet in more ways than one, and let him hold you. Your arms wrap around his thick middle, and he rubs up and down your back with both palms in an attempt to warm you up. He releases you momentarily before saying, “Here, take this.”

You step away from him for a second, giving him space to slip off the flannel he’s wearing, revealing nothing but a white t-shirt underneath; the little tufts of hair peeking out through the collar of his shirt almost send you into a tailspin.

He holds the flannel open by the collar to face you, encouraging you to put it on. You turn your back to him, allowing him the privilege of holding it as you slip your arms into the sleeves. The fabric of the shirt is warm from his skin, and the moment you put it on you’re flooded with the smell embedded deep within the fibers; all musk, whiskey, cinnamon, wood, and Joel.

“Come on, now, you little bobbin’ minx, let’s go get you your prize,” he says, tilting his head to the prize booth. You grab his hand and let him lead the way this time.

You and Joel make your way to the prize booth, the smell of kettle corn invades your senses; sure, you were already stuffed with funnel cake and your dinner, but the sweet aroma makes your mouth water. Or maybe it’s just Joel, you’re not quite sure, but you don’t really care.

In the small structure of the prize booth, the shelves were adorned with a colorful array of stuffed animals of all sizes, trinkets, and games. You carefully assess your prize options while the attendant tries to convince you that of all of the random assortment of prizes, you absolutely need the goldfish. Right.

You look over the options in front of you for what feels like a good ten minutes before the attendant not so subtly grows tired of your indecision. You sigh. You decide on a small puppy dog with beady plastic brown eyes, and you nod in thanks as he hands it to you, and you and Joel walk away from the booth.

“Had a tough time decidin’ there, didn’t ya, sweetheart?” Joel asks, not really questioning.

“Well, to be honest, none of the prizes were really appealing to me,” you respond, playing with the fluffy ears of the stuffed plush in your hands. “I only picked this one because I thought Sarah might like it,” you say. Your consideration for Sarah, and your accepting demeanor to her, warms Joel’s heart.

“But I can think of one I’d really like to claim,” you say, catching his gaze. You see his jaw clench at your words.

“Oh yeah? And that would be..?”

“You,” the word comes out breathy.

You both stop walking and the crunch of the dirt under his boots and the distant sounds of the fair in the background all but freeze as you stand there, seemingly paused in your own little private moment.

“Take me home, Joel,” you say, planting your palm on his broad chest and stepping closer to him, your chest nearly flush against his. His hands skate down to your waist, and he closes the gap between your bodies, holding you close enough that you feel the growing bulge between his thighs.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, leaning down, planting a kiss on the top of your head.

And it’s sweet.

Just like the funnel cake.

And just like he thinks you are.

But you have other plans for him tonight.

And he has the same for you.

+++

You and Joel make your way out of the fairgrounds and to the lot where Joel parked his truck.

Still wearing his flannel, the stuffed puppy dog intertwined between your crossed arms, you wait for him to open the passenger side door. You all but eye fuck him as he reaches into the depth of the front pocket of his jeans and grabs his keys. He unlocks the door, and opens it for you; offering you a hand to help guide you in.

“Always such a gentleman,” you say, placing your hand in his, accepting his offer, using the strength of his arm to help lift yourself into the bed of the truck.

Joel rounds around the front of the vehicle, unlocks the driver’s side door, and slides in. He turns the key in the ignition and the engine rumbles to life and the radio turns on, “Come a Little Closer” by Dierks Bentley plays over the speakers.

Deciding to take a note from the lyrics, you don’t bother to buckle yourself into the passenger seat, and instead slide over into the middle seat of the truck, positioning yourself tightly against Joel’s side. You lace your arm through the underside of his and interlock them, your hand curls around his firm bicep. You lean your head into his shoulder, and close your eyes, taking a moment to bask in the solitude of the strong man beneath you.

He looks down at you for a moment – god, he could get used to this. He dwells on the thought for a moment longer and then begins to drive away.

You’re clinging to him and you both ride like that in an easy silence, apart from the faint music and the hum of his truck. It has been so long since you felt so content, so at peace with the moment and yourself; not worried about work or life, or anything. It was just you and Joel, and you like it that way.

Nearly back to your house, and your shared neighborhood, you let your left hand wander on the expanse of his thigh. The time for sweetness is over. The events of the night, your combined obvious want, and the flirtatious taunts catch up with you.

Joel keeps his eyes on the road, but you don’t miss the way his grip on the steering wheel tightens as your hand makes its way closer to his belt buckle. You begin to toy with the cool metal there, and his large palm comes down to cup yours.

“We’re almost home,” he says, holding your hand tight against his stiffening cock, not letting you move. “But I want to feel you now,” you whine.

“I know, baby, I know you wanna get your hands on this cock, and I would like nothing more,” he says, “but you’re gonna have to be patient, we only have a few more minutes until we’re there.”

“And why do I have to be patient, neighbor?” you ask, pulling your hand away, slightly keyed up. Greedy. Horny.

“Because I wanna give that needy little pussy the attention she deserves,” he says, “and because once I get started, I know ‘m not gonna be able to stop.”

“And neighbor ain’t gonna be what you’ll be calling me,” he says roughly, “I’ll fuckin’ make sure of that, sweetheart.”

He takes a turn and pulls into your neighborhood. You catch a glimpse of Mrs. Morrison taking out her trash. She glares at you in disapproval as you drive past in Joel’s truck.

You sometimes wonder what your neighbors might think; a pretty little young thing like you, the youngest daughter of their good friends, a.k.a your parents, hanging out with the older, single-father neighbor across the way.

But truthfully, you don’t really give a fuck.

+++

Joel pulls up into your driveway, the engine purrs softly before falling silent. You both pause in silence.

Joel turns to you, a smirk on his lips “We’re here,” he says, his voice carrying a hint of invite me in behind his voice.

You glance out the window, your house bathed in the soft glow of your porch light. You turn back to Joel and say “Thank you for tonight, I really had a fun time. But to be honest, I just realized I never got to thank you properly…”

Joel looks at you and something dark flickers in his gaze. “And what would you need to be thankin’ me for, sweetheart?” As if he didn’t know.

“For the best orgasm I’ve ever had. Come in and I’ll return the favor,” you say, conjuring your sultriest voice, knowing he doesn’t need an invitation.

You step out of the truck, and the night air is cool, a gentle breeze whispers through your hair; your features are illuminated by the street lights in your neighborhood, and the warm glow casts an inviting aura around you. Joel appears at your side of the truck and helps you exit.

The gravel under your feet crunches as you walk toward the front porch; the air is charged with electricity, a livewire, a magnetic pull drawing your bodies together.

The porch light by your door casts a warm yellow glow on your faces. You pause at the front of the step and reach for your house keys in your purse. Your porch swing sways gently in the breeze, its rhythmic creaking adding to the undertone of the moment.

You insert the key into the lock, but before you can fully turn the doorknob to open the door, Joel already has his large palm on yours, opening the door, pushing you through the door frame and into your house, his hands cradling your face before he crashes his plush lips into yours.

The second you’re both fully in your house, Joel's hands are on the hem of your shirt, silently begging for you to take it off. You let him work on getting you topless, meanwhile, your hands are hastily working to undo his belt buckle, the excitement of finally being able to touch him and him not being able to stop touching you has you worked up. Joel presses his thighs together against yours, drawing little moans from you while he nips at your neck.

As much as he is trying to distract you, he’s no match for your determination. In record-breaking time you have his buckle undone and the zipper of his jeans is down; you gracefully fall to your knees before him, tugging his pants and his boxers down with you to the floor. Joel’s cock releases from the confines of his clothing and slaps against his tummy, leaving a little trail of pre-cum in its wake. You already knew he was big, but having him in full view makes you realize just how big he really is.

You lick your lips and reach out to grab his thick cock, affectionately kissing the tip of it; you run your tongue through the slit, lapping up the salty pre-cum that drips out before you circle your tongue along the underside of his head. You let your jaw go slack, and you begin to dip down on his length; a gurgling sound escapes your lips as you pull back up again. You do this a few times before letting his hard cock fall from your lips, now puffy and coated in saliva, some of it dribbling past your chin.

You pull off momentarily and smile up at Joel. He thinks you look far too sweet and innocent for someone who is absolutely taking his cock deep in your throat like a champ. He intertwines his fingers through your hair and groans, before gently urging you back down onto his length.

“Fuck, sweetheart – can’t tell you how long I’ve been thinking about having that pretty little mouth of yours on my cock,” he says slightly breathless.

The thought of him thinking about you goes straight to your core and makes you want to mouth fuck him harder.

You wrap your lips around him again, and he thrusts his hips to glide himself inside of your mouth to the back of your throat.

He begins to pick up his pace, holding your head steady by your hair as he fucks into your throat, pressing deeper and deeper until spit pools at the corners of your mouth and slight tears form in the creases of your eyes. He presses you down onto him until your lips are wrapped around the base of him and the course hairs that reside there. You’re drowning in the taste of him, hardly able to breathe, but you don’t care; you want him to chase his high, to use your mouth for his own pleasure. He made you come harder than anyone ever has before; this was the least you could do for him.

“Jesus – look at you, pretty girl, fuck you feel so good wrapped around me,” he grits out, “takin’ it so well, baby.”

His words go straight to your cunt, the ache now insufferable.

You begin to work him harder with your tongue, struggling for air, and he inches closer to the back of your throat and you begin to gag. Joel pulls out, not wanting to hurt you, and a strand of saliva trails between your lips and his cock. You blink back tears and look up at him, your mascara now a mess on your face, and your eyes glossy.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asks, his brow furrowed in concern.

You swallow, and reach up to wipe a tear from your cheek. You are okay. More than okay. “Peachy. I'm relieved I finally got to return the favor,” you hum, standing to rise to meet his face.

He wraps his hands around your waist, and pulls you tight against the front of his body; you feel the warmth of his tummy, the hardness of his cock, and the strength of his back behind your grip and it makes your legs turn to Jell-O. Fuck, you need him.

Joel kisses you for a moment, before pulling away and bringing his lips to your ear “Gonna fuck you now, sweet girl.”

You feel your stomach swoop and your folds tingle; you have thought about this moment for so long and you yearn for the stretch of him; to know what it’s like to be filled to the brim with Joel fucking Miller.

He kicks off his boots, steps out of the clothing bunched around his ankles, and takes your hand to follow you down the hallway into your bedroom.

Part of him wants to take his time; to make you feel good, to taste you again, and feel you come and come on his fingers. Part of him wants to shuck down your jeans and put your pretty pussy in his face.

Joel doesn’t particularly think of himself as a selfish man, but he has waited patiently, and he needs you. Now.

As much as he wants the taste of you on his lips, the part of him that wants to shove himself into your addictive cunt until you forget your name until you forget every other name except for his is the dominant one right now.

Once in the bedroom, he crowds you back until the back of your calves meet the edge of your mattress. He grabs both of your hips in a bruising grip and pulls you tight against his chest, his hips grinding into yours, and you lean your face up to kiss him. You think he might kiss you, but instead, he ghosts your lips and leans forward until your back meets the soft fabric of the mattress with an oof, and he’s on top of you.

He grabs both of your wrists, pinning them above your head. His grip on you is firm, yet gentle. You’ve seen his brute strength in action and the fact that he could overpower you sends a shiver to your clit.

“So beautiful, darlin’ – you know that?” he kisses your nose and trails a slew of them down your cheek, jaw, chin, and neck. Once at the nape of your neck, he nibbles on your earlobe and whispers “You ready for me, sweetheart?” his breath is heavy in your ear.

You can’t nod fast enough in agreement.

“You gonna be a good girl for me?” he practically purrs the question.

You want nothing more than to be a good girl for Joel. You nod almost aggressively to make up for the fact that you’re unable to construct a single sentence right now.

He lets out a satisfied moan and drops his grip on your wrists, and drags his heavy hands down your body to the center of your jeans and undoes the button of your pants, and hooks his thumbs in the waistband of both your jeans and your panties and pulls them down in one fell swoop.

He dips down to place a delicate kiss to your tummy and lets the weight of his head rest on the softness of you. He inhales deeply, the aroma of your perfume comforts him, and he fights the urge to dip his face lower and bury himself in your pussy.

You drop both of your hands and grab his head, your fingers carding through his hair, and he groans.

“Thought you were gonna be a good girl for me,” he says, not really questioning.

“I am being a good girl,” you respond back, not really sure what prompted his statement.

“Maybe I wasn’t clear enough the first time. When I put you in a position, I want you to stay there, until I say you can move. Got it?”

And holy fuck, bossy Joel turns you on.

You only hum in response.

“Need you to use your words, sweet girl. Answer me, or I’ll make you,” he says, voice low, his head closer to your center now, almost to exactly where you need him but not quite.

“Ye - ah, yes, fuck I understand,” sending all of your energy to string the words together.

He hums in acknowledgment and pushes your hands back up overhead, telling you to keep them there, and only to touch him when he says you can. When he releases your hands and sees that your arms stay put, he rasps out a “good girl.”

He then reaches down and notches his tip at your entrance, and drags the weight of his thick cock through your glistening folds.

“Mmmm so fuckin’ wet, this all for me?”

“All for you, J-oel,” you’re trembling, desperate to feel him deep inside you.

He pauses momentarily, only the tip of him inside you, and god, it’s such a tease.

You know it’ll sting, but you want him to just fucking bury every inch of himself inside of you. You don’t care about the pain; you crave the stretch of him.

“Joel – ah, need more,” you moan, “need all of you.”

“You sure, sweetheart? I ‘don wanna hurt you,” he says, once again concerned about you.

“Joel, I want you to fucking wreck me. Need you to move, please.”

After your plea, he obliges. You feel every inch of him, the way he throbs inside of you, and the tip of his head drags against the spongey spot inside of you.

Your eyes flutter shut as he begins to move in and out of you, he feels so fucking good, and you’re so perfectly full.

“Open your eyes, sweetheart,” he says, voice low and gruff, still continuing to saw in and out of you. ‘’Want you to look at me while I fuck you.”

And his words are like music to your fucking ears. He’s the perfect balance of gentleman and fucking filth.

He brings a hand down to circle your clit, and with the added sensation you’re not far off from your orgasm. You can feel it growing in your stomach with every circle of his thumb and every thrust of his cock. You open your mouth, your jaw slack, and you begin to moan.

“Fuck, baby – you shouldn’t open your mouth like that,” he moans.

“And – fuckkkk, why not?” You respond back, breathless from each of his thrusts.

“Just a reminder of another hole I need to use,” he responds, and then gruffly says “Open,” while pressing his thumb and index finger into your jaw, holding you in place.

You do as he says, and he spits into your mouth. Your eyes wide as saucers. It’s hot, dirty, filthy.

“Taste how perfect we are together, baby” he says, still pounding into you and circling your clit.

His words send you into fucking oblivion, and you’re gone. Your vision goes white, and despite his order to keep your eyes open, your eyes fall closed and he fucks you through your orgasm.

Your tight, slick walls pulse and squeeze around him. His hands squeeze your hips, his fingertips bruising your skin as he rocks your limp and shaky body against his cock, chasing his own orgasm.

Not long after you’ve come, he’s finishing too. He fucks into you at an erratic pace and then shoots his seed deep into your cunt.

“Fuckkk, baby” – he trails off, letting the final spurts of his cum paint your walls.

You let out a sigh, and once again drop your hands to his head, intertwining your hands with the hair behind his head.

You both lay there in your fucked out bliss and then he pulls out of you, taking a dribble of his cum with him, a glob of it landing on your thigh.

You’ve never felt so satisfied, to be laying there, content and full of Joel Miller.

He rolls over onto his side and puts his hand on his chest.

“Shit, baby. You’re perfect,” he says. “I don’t think I’m ever gonna get enough of you.”

You hum in delight and roll over onto his chest, melting into him.

“You in the mood for some cookies?” you ask, and he grins in response.

He hit the fucking lottery with you.

END

Tagging some Joel-lovers: @endlessthxxghts @survivingandenduring @darkheartgatita @joelmillersblog @joelsgreys @dins-riduur-anthe @joelmillers-whore @pedroswife69 @hearteyesforjoel

As always, feel free to let me know if do or don’t want to be tagged!xx

#joel miller smut #joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #pedrohub #pedro pascal character #collaboration fic #joel miller fluff #joel miller series

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jakeyt · 3 months

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Covet: Chapter 9 (Part 2 of 2)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Covet Summary:

Life was good. No, life was great.

Was.

Until.

Jake Kiszka crashed into the picture.

You welcomed him into your life—your home.

Yes, he was your best friend’s twin. But, he was also the one who would end up disrupting your whole world with his attitude, his troubles, and the annoyingly natural way he lured you in.

Jake Kiszka came with so much you really didn’t want.

At least that’s what you tried to convince yourself.

Warnings: MINORS DNI (18+); angst; fainting; regurgitating profusely; nausea; extreme feelings of stress and anxiety; extreme feelings of sadness; abandonment issues; allusions to a dark, forgotten childhood; therapy; mentions of EMDR therapy; prenatal visits; arguing/raising of voices; heart issues addressed (POTs); use of heart monitors; hemoglobin kits mentioned; emergency room visit and all that might entail (e.r. visit is a longer one, so strap in); revisited, vivid memories of sex; jealousy; body changes as a result of pregnancy; negative self-talk; looooots of baby talk; pregnancy hormones (and this is nothing compared to what's to come - that's all i'll say); reader still being sad while she checks Jake out; oh! and Joshua Michael Kiszka being the perfect angel he is <3 (as usual, PLEASE lmk if i missed anything that is triggering to you!)

Chapter Word Count: 32.6k+ (what the actual-?)

a/n: hi my lovely readers <333 i am deeply apologetic for the time you waited to receive this chapter, but i hope the length (holy fucking shit, btw) will make up for it. i really will try my damndest to not take almost a month next time.....

BUT, as you guys have learned, my chapters are very rarely "short" in length, so you can rest assured i'm quite literally busting ass trying to write the chapters in the near-month span of time between updates. lol <3 (while also doing real-time life w a job and family to tend to every single day)

this story is my baby that has been outlined for months in a google doc and i refuse to release chapters until they're completed with everything i deem necessary to include. i promise it's all for the good of the story and for the ultimate enjoyment of the readers (you!). <3 i'm never purposefully leaving you hangin', babes <3 ily all more than i'll ever be able to properly express. 🫶🏻

special shout out to my sis for being my go-to beta, ear, advice-giver, helper, AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN when it comes to all of the silly little stories i write. @joshym. you are my favorite. you know that. and i love you. so fucking much. forever the daniel to my samuel :)

and another shoutout to my wonderful pal @welightthefire - GOD, i love you. y'all, this lady has been my main source for all things baby related and i'd be hurting without her help on alllll things baby and pregnancy. <3 babe, you are the bomb and you better KNOW IT.

Please enjoy the playlist as you read 🖤 (fr, i listen to it nonstop when i write this.... all of the songs are pertinent to the story and aid in telling it - either already or eventually.)

Covet Masterlist

-🌼🌼🌼-

“The covetous person is full of fear; and he or she will who lives in fear will ever be a slave.”

-Horace

-🌼🌼🌼-

Your stomach dipped all the way to the heels of your feet, your body feeling a rush of equal parts cold and hot.

There were no words spoken for several moments, and almost as soon as you’d said it, Josh had turned to face the front. Jaw clenched tighter than you’d ever seen it, he put the car in drive as his hands wrapped tightly around the wheel – 10 and 2. His back was ramrod straight and his jaw didn’t stop flexing as you swiveled to sit to look out the windshield alongside him.

Your stomach was churning— for multiple reasons. On top of the anxiety in the moment, you also hadn’t been eating much as of late. Your appetite was almost nothing — save for pickles and Cosmic-fucking-Brownies.

It had blossomed seemingly out of nowhere.

After your night of Mac and Cheese with Jake, you had started borderline craving it afterwards—alongside the brownies and pickles. But, when you’d made some for yourself, you came to realize, with the first bite to your mouth. . . That Mac and Cheese was no longer your friend.

Although, it had made very close friends with the toilet, as you’d bent over it hurling until every last bit of the yellow food deposited in front of your sweaty face.

Surprisingly, you’d still been hungry after puking. . . but unfortunately, everything else you’d tried to eat either ended up in the toilet or in the trash from the smell alone.

And, to your utter demise, Cosmic Brownies had been ruined that day, too. Their contents eventually met the toilet when you’d tried to snack on one that same evening to fill your empty stomach.

Suffice to say, the nausea had started to kick your ass and this particularly tense situation was doing you no favors.

All you could do was steal glances at him, awkwardly, for the thirty or so minutes it took to get to the women’s clinic. He wasn’t talking at all which was so unlike Josh. You’d never gone this long being in the same space as him where he wasn’t talking. The man loved to talk. And you loved to listen and engage.

But that was not the energy that was transpiring between you two.

You would have normally put on music to fill the hollow, painfully silent space. But, you couldn’t bring yourself to move, much less put on music that would just add to the discomfort that you’d created with your confession. And, honestly, it felt like you were already making too much noise every time you took a deep breath.

Besides stealing the occasional peek at him, you watched the multiple semis that passed you, and the forests that lined the highway, full of leaves with changing colors.

And Josh just drove. Just fucking drove. And, even worse, he drove normally. Better than normal, actually. Unlike ever before, he was following the highway’s speed limit, all while not getting emotional anytime someone pulled an asshole move on the road.

He seemed to be putting every bit of his energy into three things: focusing on the road, keeping his jaw clenched tight, and not moving his hands from 10 and 2 unless he had to look over his shoulder to switch lanes.

Once you pulled up to parallel park on a busier street in SoHo, you’d made up your mind to tell Josh to just drive back and that you could hitch a ride with an Uber.

You didn’t want to make him feel any more uncomfortable than he apparently already felt.

For one, he didn’t need to be here if he didn’t want to be. And secondly, you couldn’t fucking handle any more right now. The whole point of him being with you was because you were already fucking stressed before you’d ever even told him. And at this point, it seemed you’d been correct in your assumption of him being angry.

But right now, his reaction didn’t fucking matter. This appointment mattered. Your baby mattered. You needed to be in some sort of decent mind space before you stepped foot into the place. And whether or not that included him was relative to his response when you informed him of this.

You breathed in and out heavily, shutting your eyes as you did so. Once you opened them, you pressed the unlock button on your door, signaling to him that you were ready to get the show on the road. You didn’t have time to fucking sit here and let him sulk.

Releasing a deep breath once more, you finally turned to look at him once you’d unbuckled. Then, once facing him, you mustered the firmest tone possible at that moment. “Josh,” you started, sharply. He blinked slowly and flexed the muscle in his jaw once more before he turned to make eye contact with you.

Fuck. His eyes. . . Was he angry? Sad? Indifferent? You couldn’t fucking tell. You’d never seen him so guarded. God, you shouldn’t have invited him to this. You really had started to hope that he would react more like Elsie and Gia thought he would.

But he hadn’t, and you were faced with whatever the fuck this attitude was that he had chosen to wear.

Once it was obvious he was going to look at you as you spoke, you continued. “You don’t have to go in there with me,” you began, firm yet empathetic. “I won’t make you. I will go in on my own. I have to. For my own reasons, I have to keep this appointment today. But you don’t have to come in if you would rather not,” you stated, steady and sure. He was free to fucking leave if he wanted. “You can fucking leave. I will not make you go in if you’re angry or upset or uncomfortable. I’ll get a damn Uber and you can drive back to the complex to get your car.”

He seemed to come back to the present, blinking several times and shaking his head. He rubbed one hand down his face, just as Jake did when he would get stressed.

The similar reaction made your tummy feel fuzzy and desperate for the security you needed at the moment. You needed someone right now. Even if you were willing to do this on your own (which you were), you could really use his support at the moment.

You unlocked the doors once more, making sure they were ready to go before you reached for the handle.

Resolutely, you looked over your shoulder before you addressed him once more. “I’m sorry that I made you angr—.”

“I’m not angry,” he finally said softly. After clearing his throat to talk properly again after not talking for so long, he continued. “I’m shocked and— I’m just feeling a lot of things,” he iterated, his eyes begging you to understand. And, you did. “But I am honored that you wanted me to come with you today,” he said, his face transforming to once again show you your Josh. He was back. Grabbing your hand, he finished his thought. “And I would love to go to this appointment with you.”

The tears that filled your eyes and trailed down your cheeks one by one couldn’t be helped.

“I couldn’t have done this today without you,” you said, voice cracking with emotion. You popped the glovebox to get a napkin to wipe your face, not looking at him as you kept on. “I’ve been so scared for this, and the only person— besides Elsie— that I wanted here with me, was you.”

He reached over to hold your hand, and you tucked the napkin into your lap for backup when you caught his eye again. Before he spoke again, one tear escaped his eye. With one hand lightly squeezing yours, the other dashed up to wipe at the new wetness under his eye.

Then, after shaking his head, he raised a curious eyebrow to address you. “Wait,” he said wetly before clearing his throat. “Is this your first appointment?”

“Yes,” you blinked, a blush skirting over your cheeks. “I’ve been in denial of it all until super recently.” You sniffed, feeling a couple more tears escape your eye at the topic of conversation and finally talking to Josh about it. It was, admittedly, a lot. “It took me a hot fucking second to come to terms with all of it, so I’m just now at the first appointment.”

He nodded, brows still furrowed as he looked down briefly before finding your eyes again. “How far along are you?”

“I think I’m technically like eleven-ish weeks,” you replied, doing quick math in your head. “I would need to look at my app to give you an exact number. Normally I have it right at the front of my brain, but my nerves are fucking wracked right now,” you bashfully swept your eyes over your hands, interlocked on the armrest. “For obvious reasons.”

You heard him hum and took that as your sign to look at him again. He was watching you carefully, quizzically. His eyes squinted as you, yet again, flushed under his stare.

“What?!” You hastily spit out, nervous.

“Does he. . .?”

Knowing exactly what he was asking, you quickly shut down his train of thought. “Jake doesn’t know,” you informed him, tucking your chin as you quietly repeated yourself. “He doesn’t know.”

“Alright,” he responded, not questioning you in the slightest. Your eyes flashed up to meet his: the color of cocoa and sparkling. “Does Elsie?”

Without any words, you gave him a look that answered his pondering thoughts.

He chuckled, and you joined him by huffing a little laugh, just under your breath. You felt your cheeks loosen with an easy smile. Your shoulders were relaxing more and more by the second. The familiar, natural sense of joviality with him was settling your frazzled nerves.

You eyed the clock on the dashboard and suddenly realized that you were cutting it very close to your appointment time, with no more than a few minutes to spare before you would be running late.

Sensing your sudden shift in mood, he took the keys out of the ignition just as you unlocked the doors once again, and opened yours.

“Let’s go inside,” he encouraged, mimicking your action as he opened his own door behind your turned back.

When you were out of the car, and waiting (sort of) patiently on the sidewalk for him, you physically shook out some of the anxiety that had made home in your bones for the last several months.

He officially knew that you’d had sex with Jake. He knew that now. And he knew that it had resulted in a baby. He knew enough for now.

And it actually seemed like things were going to be okay. Maybe Elsie had been right all along (though you’d never tell her that).

Your thoughts were affirmed when he came up beside you, pulling you into a hug as soon as he was at your side. A full-on Josh hug: arms wrapped securely around your shoulders. You did your best to hold back tears, so as not to soil his stark white sweatshirt.

Pulling away before you could let any inevitable tears take over, you looked up at him to see his dimple, present in his cheek. You couldn’t help the single tear that trickled down your cheek at the overwhelming feeling of normality. He was warm. He was real. He was Josh.

He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, bringing you to him once more before taking your hand in his and wrapping it up tightly.

Peeking up at him through wet lashes, you saw his face was still turned up in his signature grin, his eyes, slightly playful as he gave you a knowing look he’d given you a thousand times before.

“You’ve got this, mama,” he reassured with a wink, opening the door to the clinic for you.

-🌼🌼🌼-

The place was fucking amazing. The pictures you’d seen on its website hadn’t done it justice at all. The environment was trendy and relaxing and comfortable. Soft music, similar to that of a lullaby played in the open space, only illuminated by the natural light of the day. No overbearing fluorescent bulbs.

Thank God.

As you made your way to the front desk, you decided to let go of Josh’s hand.

For some reason, it just felt right to do this on your own. Felt right to make this stride on your own. You could handle the front desk.

“You go sit down,” you offered, motioning to the couches that filtered the chic waiting room. “I think I can do this part.”

“You sure?” He asked, brows dipping to show his genuine concern. “I’m with you every step of the way. I mean it.”

Your eyes drew wet at the words, but you sniffled and cleared the emotion from your throat when you went to grab his arm through the soft white material of his sweatshirt. “I love you so much for that. I can’t even tell you, Josh,” you told him, a tear escaping despite your efforts. “But I’ve gotta take this step on my own.”

He nodded, needing no further explanation. “I’m over here if you need me,” he threw a thumb at the couches behind him.

You watched as he walked to the couch nearest to the front desk, sitting comfortably on the blush pink velvet that covered it. You tipped your head at him once, showing him and yourself that you were starting your trek to the counter.

Once there, you were greeted by the kind smile of a woman most likely in her fifties or sixties, her thick black-framed glasses taking up more than half of her face. Her tanned complexion was flawless and her lips were full with red lipstick as she stretched them over perfectly white teeth. Her jet-black hair was half-up, half-down, haphazardly thrown up with a claw clip, but looking flawless nonetheless.

She matched the modish aesthetic of the clinic to a T.

“Hi, babe,” she cheerily greeted you with an out-of-place Southern accent in SoHo, her voice still low to keep the room quiet. “You have an appointment today?”

You froze. The reality of it all suddenly came barreling towards you.

Fuck. Shit. Yes. I do have an appointment today. I’m pregnant. I’m standing here, waiting for an appointment because I’m fucking pregnant.

Dammit. What the fuck? I’m. . .?

You standing here suddenly seemed completely astronomical and unreal– was this truly what life was for you now? While thinking about it nonstop, you’d also not been thinking about it to the extent that it would’ve taken for all of this change to click. This was real. Real life.

You were carrying a human child.

And you were at your first appointment for it.

Goddamn.

Blinking several times, you tried to keep your grounding firm as your eyes traced her features a thousand times– searching your suddenly static-filled brain for the most simple word in the English language.

“Y-y-y–,” you shut your eyes tightly to reset. Come on, y/n. You’ve got this. It’s just one word.

But you suddenly weren’t sure if you ‘had this’. Your hands began to shake uncontrollably at your sides; you wiped them repeatedly on your leggings.

But before you could moisten the fabric covering your thighs completely, you went to place them on the counter, touching your current surroundings to center yourself. To hold on to what was real.

Gia would be so proud.

But then your brain raced right back to the true reality of it all. The reason you were freaking out in the first place was because of the real you couldn’t escape–not that you wanted to, by any means. . .right?! You wanted this. You wanted this.

You DO want this, y/n. Deep breaths.

The voice sounded so eerily similar to your therapist’s that it helped you to grasp onto a flicker of stabilization.

This reality was not new. You’d known it was real. You had known there was (probably—hopefully) a kid in you for the past few weeks. And being in this place didn’t make that anymore different than before— minutes before when you’d stepped through the door of the clinic.

Then you’d walked up to the counter and had one simple question asked of you.

You shook your head once more before blinking open your suddenly-wet eyes.

But you couldn’t look up from the floor. From your high-top, white Chuck Taylors, now off-white and stained from years of wear.

And swirling before your eyes in ways they shouldn’t be from the amount of nerves encapsulating your brain. . . Your stomach was rolling.

All of a sudden, you felt a familiar arm wrap around your trembling shoulders, strongly holding you to his chest to keep you stable. The cologne that came from the person, along with the overwhelming rush of relief that came with his presence was a dead giveaway for your new company.

Everything settled.

“Yes,” Josh stated, clearly, for you. “Yes, it’s her first appointment. Y/n? Y/l/n?”

A couple of beats and a few clicks from a mouse followed his words. Then you heard a clipboard clack lightly against the counter and a pen getting clicked open before she sat it on top of the board.

“Whenever she’s ready,” her voice assuredly spoke, so soft and warm. “I’ll get y’all back there when the time feels right.”

You’d effectively curled tighter into Josh before you looked back up at the sweet lady, meeting her eyes with embarrassment laced through every feature on your face. The muscles in your jaw relaxed when you met her eyes, finally speaking.

“Thank you,” you muttered. “I’m so sorry.”

She tilted her head at you, sending an understanding wink your way. “No need to apologize, sweet pea,” she calmly hushed, her voice sounding reminiscent of any old Southern woman you’d ever seen in a movie. “It’s a whole lot to deal with. We get it.”

Your lips quivered up into a small smile, eyes watery. “That means a lot,” you sputtered, fresh tears making their way to your jaw.

Dear fucking God. The tears had to stop at some point. You’d always been a crier, but these motherfucking hormones were just bringing out the absolute most. Pulling out all of the stops. Your emotions, pre-pregnancy, were already shaky, at best. . . and they were apparently just getting progressively worse with the damned baby hormones.

The anxiety was understandable. But the crying? It was almost nonstop. And it was getting old already.

Though, you knew–you knew–that it wasn’t even fucking close to being over. If everything today went accordingly and you officially found out there was a whole ass baby growing inside of you, you knew that this spike in emotions was only the beginning.

Sharing one more smile with the lady behind the desk, you walked with Josh back to the waiting room couch he’d been occupying prior to your blessed meltdown.

-🌼🌼🌼-

Unashamedly, you let Josh fill out all of the paperwork. You were still tense and uneasy, but the way you’d handled answering the questions, with him right by your side helped more than you’d intended it to. The process had just been an easy ebb and flow, answering basic questions about yourself.

And questions about Jake—but Josh answered those with zero problems. Basic Father-Of-The-Child shit that Josh could ramble off in his sleep. You couldn’t help peering over his shoulder as he answered those. You couldn’t explain the intrigue— you just thought it funny seeing him answer questions about his twin. . . Like it was nothing.

Then came questions about your menstrual cycle. Which were not your favorite to have Josh write the answers to— but you didn’t want to put pen to paper, so you continued to let him write even those, too.

The rest of the process went easily. He’d rattle off a question, and you’d answer it. That was how it’d gone for roughly thirty minutes.

He’d clicked his tongue, drawing a line down the section about past pregnancies. And then he’d come to a question that made him give you a look. He had one eyebrow raised as soon as he’d read through the last question.

The last question. The last question that had been slightly unwelcome and less than wonderful to have him fill in for you.

You didn’t know why you hadn’t thought of it being on the sheet. Your mind had been too focused on other things for the past several days. Like hopelessly depressing scenarios involving your baby’s wellbeing and telling people and eating fucking pickles. . . you just hadn’t really given much weight to possible questions on this initial patient questionnaire.

You pulled your body back slightly, your own face morphing to one that mirrored his. “What?”

“The last question— they want to know if you’re sexually—,” he cleared his throat, shaking his head once before before continuing. “If you’re sexually active.”

You blushed deep crimson—your cheeks, flaming hot. You knew exactly where his mind went because it was where yours went with the question.

Are you still having sex with Jake?

You coughed briefly, clearing the awkward air before you responded. “No,” you divulged, your eyes flitting up to his: big, wondering and deep chocolate. “No. We’re not— fuck. I’m not. I’m not having sex. I don’t know if he is,” you rambled, bringing a hand up to slap your forehead. Your heart rate even accelerated the slightest bit, hurting your chest. What in the fuck? That's unnecessary. It’s one question, y/n. Quit being nervous—there’s no need. “But—I’m not having sex. Not sexually active, no.”

Josh brought your hand away from your head, which was suddenly breaking out in a cold sweat. You found his eyes: open and willing to listen and understand. Your heart rate slowed considerably at his expression. “It’s okay, y/n. Either way, I don’t care. It’s your life.”

You blinked away more tears—god, fuck. Not trusting yourself to speak, you simply nodded in response. The response was what you’d needed to hear from the beginning. Would things be different if you’d heard those words from him at the beginning of all of this?

It was no use to imagine. You hadn’t heard his affirmation before now, and at this point, it was officially too late. You’d hurt Jake. Jake had moved on and proved to you that you really weren’t that important to him.

And, the sad truth: even if Josh was okay with it, you had plenty more reasons to keep your title with Jake strictly roommate—friend at most.

Also, officially, the mother of his child.

Clasping your hands over your tummy, you watched as he checked the “no” box. Then, you watched his eyes scan the sheet quickly to check for any missed questions, clicking his tongue against his teeth all the while.

Thankfully, it seemed you’d successfully answered all of them when he got up to walk the sheet back to the counter for you, where a nurse now occupied the seat, you’d observed. Scrubs, making that apparent.

You had been too busy spacing out on the many questions Josh had asked of you, per the sheets. You hadn’t the mind to pay attention to where the receptionist had gone.

Josh came back over to you shortly to get your driver’s license from you, along with your insurance card.

“They’ll need these on file,” he said, flashing both at you once you’d given them to him. He brought them back after they’d scanned them into the system, but went up to the counter to answer any questions they may've had as you waited on the couch.

He was seriously the best. You, proving to be completely useless, didn’t hinder him from being the most incredible friend whilst you sat, doing nothing.

Before too long, once (you assumed) the general information from the sheet had been entered in the system, you heard your name called from the door to the side of the desk, and you were steadily ushered to the back by a nurse. (With Josh in tow, of course. He wasn’t going anywhere.)

“Nice day outside?” The young nurse, blonde hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, asked politely, as you stepped off the scale she’d weighed you on.

“Yeah,” you responded, glancing over your shoulder at Josh. “Nice fall day. But a little warmer than we like it, huh, Josh?”

He nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, yes,” he responded. “Definitely not enjoying my choice of clothing today. . . Not the day for a sweater, I’ll say.”

The nurse hummed, taking in the information as she grabbed a cup from the counter with your first initial and last name on it. “How long have you guys been together?” She addressed you once with a smile, looking between the two of you with a twinkle in her eye.

You didn’t mean to squawk with a laugh.

But thankfully you didn’t have to worry about it because Josh did, too.

The laugh was, once again, exactly what you needed to calm you down. Your shoulders, still releasing their tension from earlier, became more and more relaxed with each giggle you released. Josh was holding his mouth and shaking his head, his smiling eyes closed while you answered the question.

“We’re not together,” you explained, the laughter dying down as you caught the nurse’s wide eyes sympathetically. “He’s my best friend. Dating my sister, actually.”

“Oh,” she grinned shakily, eyes jumping back and forth between the two of you. “You both just–he’s here with you today—and you two just seem to fit so well together.”

You smirked, throwing a sideways glance at Josh who was watching the woman with the same sympathetic gaze as you. He must’ve sensed your staring, though, because he quickly threw a look your way.

He winked at you before adding in his two cents. “I mean, you weren’t wrong. We do mesh incredibly well, but her sister’s had my heart for a helluva a long time. However, I am the uncle,” he informed her, pointing to himself before throwing the same pointer at your tummy.

It made your heart flutter a thousand beats per minute at hearing him say, for the first time, that he’s the uncle. Josh being bound by blood to the little bean growing within you is another reason you feel assured in your decision to keep it. It’s part of Jake, and part of your closest confidant (aside from Elsie) for years. You’ve obviously thought about it plenty of times before now, but finally hearing Josh acknowledge it was something your heart desperately needed.

“My brother is the father. I’m just her best friend–don’t know what he is to her, though," he finished.

Your eyes widened as you were still getting used to hearing Jake being referred to as the father out loud. . .

Better get fucking used to it, though–nothing you could do about it.

You also weren’t sure what to make of Josh’s last statement–was he still upset with you that he didn’t know anything about Jake’s role in your life? The inflection in his tone sounded a bit more sneering than you would have liked.

Whenever she spoke next, you were able to snap out of it, recovering quickly.

“Whoa,” she said, blowing out a breath. “That’s. . . wow.” Shaking her head, she looked at the cup in her hand, handing it over to you before she continued. She seemed to be done with the conversation, and ready to get back to the task at hand. “Every woman that comes in for her first appointment gets her blood drawn and urinates in a cup,” she motions to the plastic container she’d handed over to you, then taps at her arm as she watches you carefully for her next spiel. “We draw the blood so we can use it to identify your blood type and to look for other conditions we may have to monitor or treat during your pregnancy.”

Damn. That was a hell ton of information. What do I even make of all of that?

It was your turn to just stare blankly at her and offer a simple okay before she was pointing to the room with the open door, across the hallway, for Josh.

“You can wait in that room for her,” she stretched a little half smile over her delicate features. “She will be there shortly.”

He gave you two thumbs up and a reassuring grin before going in the direction she’d told him. Then she was leading you to the nearest bathroom so you could pee in your fucking cup. After giving you a few instructions, along with a sterile wipe, and informing you on how to get an uncontaminated urine sample, she was letting you in to the single-person restroom.

It definitely matched the trendy environment of the rest of the clinic and was cleaner than probably any other public restroom you’d ever been inside. You did exactly as she’d instructed and made your business quick before handing off the sample to the same nurse from before. She sat it in a window where someone behind immediately grabbed it.

“Going off to the lab,” she half-smiled, but quickly tipped her finger to signal you to follow her further down the hallway. “Now I’m going to draw some blood real fast, and then you’ll be free to go wait for the doctor in your room.”

Sitting in a chair in a room towards the back, a couple of other nurses went about their business as your nurse cleaned your arm, using a cotton ball with her now-gloved hands.

“Does getting your blood drawn freak you out?” She apprehensively questioned before she went to insert the needle. “Or these?” She wiggled the needle in the air to emphasize.

You shook your head, pursing your lips. “For some reason, those are two things I’m totally fine with,” you spoke, your voice tilting up at the end. “I don’t know why they don’t freak me out—everything else fucking does.”

God, shut the fuck up, y/n. Let her do her job.

The blonde gave you an odd look, as if you’d spoken too much for her taste.

And that pissed you off. You no longer felt bad for talking too much.

You fucking asked me, bitch.

Thankfully, you were able to get rid of her in minutes-time. As soon as she’d bandaged your arm over a cotton ball, she pointed you to the room she’d sent Josh.

“Thanks,” you mumbled with a small, semi-annoyed smile before making your way to the room where Josh waited.

His eyes were huge when you made your way into the small exam room.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “You’ve got it cut the fuck out for you, huh?”

You gave him a look that said Seriously? and rolled your eyes. “Duh, Josh,” you replied, taking in the small room with pretty pictures of babies all over the walls. “I kind of already knew that. Since I am the one carrying the fuckin’ baby and all.”

God, that was harsh, y/n. He doesn’t deserve your anger like that.

Both of his hands went up to guard him as he crossed one leg over the other. “Jesus, y/n,” he sighed, eyes huge. “Give me a damn break. I didn’t even know until today that you were pregnant. Didn't fully know any of it. It’s a lot for a guy, I guess.”

“Damn, I’m so sorry that it’s so much for you as a man, Josh,” you scowled, your voice not hiding any of your irritation with him for his last comment.

Seriously, y/n?

To be fair, as amazing as Josh truly was, he was still a man— and half of the time men didn’t know their heads from their assholes. Didn’t ever know the proper times to say stupid shit. (Or, to not say it at all.)

You had to put it in perspective, though . . .because you kind of sucked at saying ridiculous shit, too. So you could only get so angry with him.

“That was a stupid thing to say,” he admitted. “Sorry.”

You tried to laugh it off. You didn’t want there to be unnecessary tension right now—it was the very last thing you needed. “It’s fine,” you encouraged.

You propped yourself to sit the best you could on the edge of the beige-matted table. The thin paper that covered it crinkled underneath you– made you feel like you were making way too much noise for the tiny room.

“I’m sorry for being short. I need you. For multiple reasons. But right now. . .I just need you to be with me when I find out if this bean actually exists in my loins. . . If I’ve been imagining it the whole fucking time, or if I’ve lost it. . .,” you swallowed. You had to blink back the tears gathering in your eyes as you trailed off at the dreaded possibility. “I just need you to see with me if there’s anything sad to be seen,” you added, voice suddenly wet.

“Hey,” Josh spoke, softly. “Look at me.”

You swiveled to do as he said. The attempt to not cry was useless. The tears were drenching your cheeks. The fear that had settled so deeply in your bones since the day you’d heard that podcast was coming to light, as you’d just uttered the worries aloud for the first time.

Barely seeing Josh through the wetness that clouded your vision, you replied the best you could, albeit extremely pathetically. “Yeah?”

“Why are you worried about those things?” He asked, so quietly, eyes gleaming to bring light. Grabbing your hands, his eyes became suspicious slits when he addressed his next question. “Y/n. . . Have you given yourself any time to feel excited about this appointment? Or have you just focused on the anxiety you’ve built up, surrounding today?”

You bowed your head out of embarrassment. “I’ve been excited, Josh. . .,” you muttered, completely aware of the lie.

“Mmm,” he responded, rubbing his chin with one hand as the other still grasped both of yours, sure and comforting. “I suspect that’s untrue. . . I know you, my love.”

Gasping on a sob, you closed your eyes to stop crying, covering your face with your hands. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said, squeezing your hands, down and away from your face. He held them still with one of his own, the other helping to slide his chair closer to you. “Don’t you dare be sorry, mama— there’s no reason. This is just the beginning; you’ve got plenty more opportunities to be excited. . . I’m sure plenty of women get worried before this first appointment. There’s a lot up in the air before the first time you see the little thing on the screen.”

You opened your eyes to look at him. And though they were still wet, nothing else was coming from your ducts— thank god. “Yeah?” You asked, desperate to know he actually might understand, tone begging him to tell you you’re not crazy. “You think?”

He nodded with his lips pursed, his new mustache squiggly with the action; his brows, tied together, and eyes, serious. “Oh, yes. I know it. You are not alone, love,” he reassured you, helping your heart rate slow to normal for the millionth time that day. “But that’s why I hope every single one of those women has a person who is there for them on days like today.” He paused, setting his eyes firmly on you before continuing. “Because, today, we are going to discover and conquer whatever we find out from that screen—,” he tilted his forehead toward the monitor screen, “Together.”

Your eyes welled, lip sticking out with a pout. God, you loved him. You truly couldn’t have done today without him. “I really need a hug from you.”

Without question, he was up and out of his seat, wrapping his arms snugly around you. You tucked your nose into his neck, breathing in his cologne— the familiar smell of his patchouli exactly what you needed to feel secure in the moment.

You were busy focusing on his breathing, in and out, in and out, when the door received a knock and creaked open behind his back. He must’ve heard, too, and moved away from hugging you and back to his seat as you both watched for the doctor to walk through the door.

But the only person you saw was. . . the receptionist? What was she doing in—?

“I’m Dr. Rose,” the beautiful lady—who was a doctor apparently, not a receptionist—greeted you with that same, thick Southern accent. “It’s nice to see you doin’ better since I last saw ya, babygirl.”

You blinked several times, feeling immediately at ease with the familiar face. “You’re a doctor? Not a receptionist?”

God, stupid, y/n. Duh. She just said that, you moron.

She chuckled. “Yes ma’am,” she replied, as she clicked on every button on the monitor needed to complete the appointment. Afterwards, as things whirred to life, she went to open the laptop she’d carried in with her, sitting atop the counter. “I’m your doctor, sweet cakes,” she twanged in her western tone. “I’ll be with y’all until the very end of this wonderful journey we call pregnancy.”

You grinned, appreciative of the fact that you were already familiar with her—even if it was from the tiniest interaction earlier. But you couldn’t hold onto that feeling for too long before you got nervous of the impression you’d made earlier with your anxiety attack (or whatever the hell that’d been).

With concerned brows, you cleared your throat before offering up some words of your own. “I’m so sorry that the first time you met me I was acting like a basket case,” you apologized, extremely self conscious. Crossing your legs tighter, you tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. When that still hadn’t been enough to contain the nervous energy, you let your hands rest on your belly.

Tapping away at the small bump, skin tight under your sweater, you waited for her response.

She gave you a look that immediately eased you. Her brow, raised, and beautiful red lips quirked up in a small grin. “Now, little missy, I told you earlier that we get it and I meant it.” Dr. Rose sat on her rolling stool, wheeling over to the table. And once there, extended it to be higher so she could talk better with you closer to eye level. “You are not the first one to get all nervous at your first prenatal appointment—or any OB appointment at all— and you’re certainly not the last—far, far from it,” she smiled wide, close-lipped and completely empathetic. Her deep set, big, brown eyes— lashes so long and curled to perfection— showed you how much she cared, behind her big black frames. “Now, how about we get to the good stuff?”

There were obviously a couple tears dripping down your cheek, and you pushed them away as you nodded. Your tummy did all of the flips and tosses and turns—your skin was practically buzzing with nerves.

You were so close to seeing the truth.

Facing this head on.

“Go ahead and lay back for me,” she instructed. You did as you were told, bending an arm behind your head, trying to get comfortable in skin that felt restrictive. As she stood up, clicking a few buttons to get the monitor screen situated, she asked some questions. “Now can you give me a small debrief on your health history? Anything you can think of? Don’t worry about digging too, too deep right now. We have your blood samples and urine sample that will also aid in indicating any abnormalities.”

The word abnormalities wasn’t your favorite thing to hear, but you didn’t let it sit tight in your brain as you pondered anything she might need to know.

“Um,” you dipped into the more current issues you’d faced. “I guess. . . anxiety? Depression? Do those count?”

Dr. Rose hummed in approval and gave a small grin as she went to get a few materials from the cabinet.

“I think the anxiety is worse than the depression, but they’re both persistently just. . . there,” you contemplated what else. . . nothing much was coming to your mind. “I also got my tonsils taken out when I was like 12 years old. . .?”

“You say that as a question,” she commented, a lilt in her voice and a smile on her face, showing that she found it funny.

“I did have them taken out,” you huffed a laugh, rolling your eyes at yourself as you pushed back a few strands of hair that had fallen out from behind your ear. “I’m just kind of. . .blanking. I know there’s more, but I’m just–just fucking nervous.”

“That’s understandable, sweetie pie,” she assured, her thick Southern accent making your heart rate settle just a bit.

“I know I’m probably missing a few things. Like, there are parts of my childhood that are hazy at best, so there might be things buried back there that I can’t tell you today,” you informed carefully, hoping she understood. When she nodded, you took that as your sign to continue. “I’m seeing a therapist right now who is actually helping me dig up some of it, so I might have a few more answers for you next visit.”

There was a moment of silence as Dr. Rose continued to prepare the sonogram machine, the obnoxious clacking of keys and buttons covering the dull electrical hum that surrounded you. However, that singular moment of time seemed to carry on and on as the nerves in your body seemed to twist your gut to the point that your organs felt close to pushing out of your belly button.

It was as if simply mentioning your mental health – and whispering of your past – was enough to send you into a mini spiral. The muted lull of the clinic didn’t help anything. . . the almost soundless environment, wrapping you up in its emptiness and choking you.

Tap, tap . . . Tap, tap . . . Tap, tap . . .

You tried to focus on the thrum of your fingertips along the tender skin of your swollen abdomen, hoping and praying it would keep your thoughts at bay.

She was taking a long fucking time–which you were sure was normal and warranted.

But, God. The room just started feeling smaller and smaller as the thoughts got bigger and bigger. You were in the room that was about to tell you the truth of the matter and you still seemed so far away from finding out. . . You weren’t sure what to think.

Were you even ready to see what the ultrasound was about to show you?

Josh must have noticed the nervous energy you were exuding as the stoppers on the legs of the chair made a sharp scraping noise against the sterile linoleum tile, making you cringe the tiniest bit. He moved his chair closer to the side of the table next to you, opposite of where Dr. Rose sat on the other side. His dark eyes made contact with yours and his brow raised as if to say, ‘are you okay?’.

All you could manage to do was nod in response, brows knitted.

“Alrighty, I’m going to put some of this gel on your belly and then you’ll feel a bit of pressure once we start.”

You were half expecting a chill to make you jolt with the application of the thick gel, much like you'd seen in movies - you know, where it’s freezing cold and uncomfortable - but as it fell against your skin, you were surprised to be met with a warm temperature that relaxed you. The clean scent of the gel overpowered your nostrils, but not in a bad way. It gave you something else to focus on as a slight pressure from the head of the wand, came to push lightly against your belly, just above your pelvic bone.

The black and white image appeared on the screen and. . . showed you nothing.

Nothing.

Emptiness. Empty stomach.

Amidst the gray static on the screen, there was nothing but a big black spot that resembled a the shape of a bean. You had to force yourself to look away, an all-too familiar stinging feeling in the corner of your eyes, showing up again.

All this time, the acceptance of your pregnancy and the effort and hard work you’d put in to create a better life for yourself (and this part of him inside you). . . had shown to be completely pointless. The feeling of hope that you'd begun to welcome into your life was on the brink of shattering and it didn’t help that Dr. Rose wasn’t saying anything. . . wasn’t doing anything aside from sliding the wand against your empty stomach.

God fucking dammit. All of your worst fears were coming to fruition and every moment you stared at the bleak screen you felt the emptiness on the screen envelop your heart until—.

Thump thump.

You felt your breath catch in your throat as Josh gently grabbed onto your arm, reassuring, and pointed at the screen above you. On the screen, displayed clear as day right in front of you, was the outline of a baby’s delicate profile.

The soft curve of its forehead, the splotchy spikes of a tell-tale spine, a little belly, the slightest movement of four tiny limbs protruding from the sides and bottom. . . and the tiniest flicker in the center of it all.

You couldn’t tear your gaze away as Dr. Rose started to press more buttons and a bunch of small dotted yellow lines showed over the image of your baby, measuring from point A to point B. She was speaking, but you couldn’t be bothered to listen to the words she was saying. All you cared about was the miniscule movements on the screen as a leg kicked up or an arm pushed out.

It was beautiful, striking, amazing, wonderful, unbelievable, and real. . . so very real.

What you had found yourself questioning for weeks wasn’t just a thought, but now cemented reality. The concerns you had and the voice in your head doubting you were silenced to nothing - because the life growing inside you, the product of you and Jake, was right in front of you.

The product of the best night of your life was finally proven to be the best part of you and it was real.

Thump thump.

The steady sound of a little racing heartbeat drew you back to the present and to the words your doctor was saying to you.

“Profile looks darn good, placenta is anterior, there’s the umbilical cord. . .,” She spoke as she pointed with her finger to each shape of white that was mixed into the static. “Heartbeat is 160, there’s the bladder and the kidneys, oh!” Dr. Rose exclaimed with a chuckle as she seemed to record a movement. Upon playing it back in front of you, she explained the movement as a little hand with five fingers moved up towards a space by the baby’s nose. “The little angel is wavin' at you, mama,” she looked down at you with a knowing smile.

Your heart swelled more than you’d ever felt in your entire life. This was . . . otherworldly. Absolutely earth-shattering. There were not any words you could string together that would do this moment justice.

“Wow,” you muttered, voice officially clogged with the tears that relentlessly poured down your cheeks. You sniffled. “It’s. . . moving?”

“Sure is,” she winked. “Has been for a while. You have an especially active little one – already. Prepare for some monster kicks here in a couple months, mama.”

“Wow,” you repeated.

“Gets it from their uncle,”Josh said, sniffling behind you.

You smiled over at him. You felt the joy he did. All around. More. This was your baby. Yours and Jake’s. God.

“Exciting, huh, babe?” She asked knowingly.

All you could do was nod. You weren’t sure you could stop smiling. . . it was hurting your cheeks, but you welcomed it. This was. . . this was everything. Everything you could have ever wished for.

“I know it, honey bun,” she agreed, her red lips perked with joy for you. “Also, according to the size of the baby and the start date of your last menstrual cycle, I would say you are at right about 12 weeks, little missy.”

Once she’d confirmed the gestational age, you saw her scoot the cart back a bit and wipe the wand she’d used with a sterile wipe, putting it back in its slot. Then, she cleaned your belly of any leftover jelly. You just watched from where you were still leaned back, head resting on one arm behind it. She stripped her gloves and tossed them in the nearest waste bin.

“Twelve weeks. Yep,” you breathed, pulling your shirt down. Your cheeks lifted even more at officially knowing (relatively) how old your little bean was. “Based on my last period.”

“Yes. Because, oddly enough, that is technically when the pregnancy started,” she explained. “On the first date of your last menstrual cycle.”

Dr. Rose went to grab a packet, a pamphlet, and a few free-flying papers, all paper-clipped together, from the counter. You sat up as she clicked her way back to you on her stilettos. She kept talking as she handed them to you. “I don’t wanna clog up our time today with all of the technicalities – unless that’s what ya want?” She offered.

You shook your head no. Today, all you’d come in wanting to know was that your baby was alive. And you knew that now. And fuck, it felt nice. Better than.

Except . . .

“Is the baby healthy?” You asked worriedly, needing to hear her tell you.

“Positively. One hundred percent, mama,” she confirmed, her teeth sparkling behind her red lips. “From what I could see on the scan, you’ve got a perfectly healthy baby squirmin’ around in there.”

You internally and externally let out a sigh of relief that had needed released for a fat second. The baby was okay. Healthy. Moving. Alive.

Everything was going to be alright.

You looked down at Josh, his face glowing, cheeks glistening with tears. “I’m so proud of you,” he choked.

Another tear slipped down his cheek as you felt one well in your eye. You didn’t know why he was proud of you, but the words made your emotions spike. You were proud of the little life inside of you. . . already doing its best to live its best life.

“Back to what I was sayin’ before,” Dr. Rose went on. Your eyes found her, clicking off the machine. “In that paperwork you’ll find all of the technicalities and logistics about the pregnancy. Which vitamins you should take. Prenatals our clinic suggests. Recommended foods to eat. The baby’s size week by week. When I say everything, sweetie, I mean ev-er-ything,” she emphasized in her twang. “You can find the same information on our clinic’s website. There is a help tab on there for our mothers-to-be, but I always provide physical copies for my girls. I also recommend downloading at least one pregnancy tracker app to get notified with updates – it’s just convenient and fun.”

“I downloaded one recently, actually. It’s been amazing. Thank you for everything,” you weakly offered. You also had to know. . . “Will you be the one delivering the baby?”

“Sure thing,” she affirmed. “With ya till ya want rid of me. Speaking of that day, our partnering hospital is Cedars-Sinai, so that is where you’ll end up having the baby,” she paused, bringing her eyes to you. “Since you indicated on the form that you would prefer a planned hospital birth over a planned home birth.”

“Correct. Hospital birth for me,” you affirmed.

“Now, we are going to schedule your next appointment for four weeks from now,” she continued, opening her tablet and typing out the information for her calendar, presumably. “How does December 8th sound, honey bun?”

You didn’t check your calendar, because you would make that day okay. Anything you needed to do to make it happen. “Sounds perfect,” you replied, practically jittering with excitement for the next one. “When will I find out the gender?”

“I always have my girls wait until week 18,” she responded, turning buttons off on the machine before scooting it back where it had started. “So, when you come in for your next appointment, we will actually have ya schedule an extra lil appointment in there to see what our little buddy is in there.”

“Got it,” you told her.

“Your sonogram pictures will be waitin’ at the front desk for ya,” she said, washing her hands. Then, after she dried them, she grabbed her laptop. “And finally, your due date is–at this point, according to what we know–May 23rd.”

The date was suddenly the most important you’d ever heard.

It was the day you now felt you’d been waiting for your entire life.

Without ever knowing it.

This baby was already changing your heart for the better and everyday, it seemed like all the little (alive and moving) bundle of hope did was bring you unadulterated joy.

The most precious gift that you’d made with someone so precious to you.

-🌼🌼🌼-

Once you’d finished the appointment, Josh had asked if you had any plans. And when you’d said no, he ended up driving you both to a cute little cafe he'd heard about in SoHo. A place that, even from the outside, oozed with a charming aesthetic.

The two of you sat there, pointing out every single detail of the sonogram pictures, ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the tiny feet, tiny hands, and the itty bitty, adorable body that belonged to your baby. . . You had never seen something so beautiful. You were sure of it.

And after that, you’d taken some time to catch up. You’d talked about him and Elsie, Elsie and her travels, and the fact that you’d started going to therapy. (Next to the baby, he was most excited about this.)

All you’d ordered was a Sprite since you weren’t feeling the most hungry as of late. Josh had followed in your lead and only ordered drinks as well. Honey tea and a glass of water. He’d made sure to tell the waitress to grab you a water, too.

And after a quick trip to the bathroom to relieve your ever-aching bladder, you were back at the table.

Back at a table where Josh was giving you a look. His eyes were narrowed, a mischievous grin turning his lips up to show a dimple in his cheek.

Just as you’d sat down, the waitress was bringing Josh a new, piping hot tea, since he'd (apparently) already finished the first.

And then, as soon as she was gone, he was talking.

“I sort of had a weird inkling of something going on. . .,” Josh noted as he stirred, then took a long swig of his tea, steam still emitting from the top. “Goddammit!” He gasped, a pained expression painting his features, as he coughed over the warm temperature of the beverage. “Hot hot hot hot,” he repeated to himself, finding his ice water and taking an even longer swig.

You couldn’t help the burst of laughter that bloomed in your chest, flying past your lips as he continued to down the water. All you got in response was him flipping you off with one long digit, and a wrinkle, knitting his brow.

The sinking feeling in your stomach couldn’t be ignored, though. . . you’d heard what he initially said. How had he known? God. . . how long? Your mind was a frenzy as you forced yourself to stop laughing to focus on the serious subject matter at hand.

“How?”

“Well, y/n,” he replied smartly, motioning to the cup. “It just came from the pot, I’m sure. Don’t you see the damned thing is steaming? Why did I even take a–?”

“No,” you stopped his rambling to clarify your question. “How did you . . .? Did you seriously know?” As you were still air-quoting the last few words, he was already nodding his head to answer you. “How? Why? What did we do wrong? I-I mean- God. Do Sam and Danny know, too?”

“Now, I didn’t say I knew,” he corrected you, feeling at the sides of the mug to test the temperature. And, yet again, he was met with the scorching temperature, thus hissing and placing his hands around the plastic of the water cup. “In essence, I said I had an idea. And you didn’t do anything wrong. I just– he’s my fucking twin, y/n,” he set you with a stare that said ‘Remember?! Can’t fool me!’, before he continued. “And where you’re concerned. . . I know you very well. You’ve been my best friend for several years. . ." he reminded you. "Oh, and I’m also a fucking empath. Which you, my dear, were the first one to ever point out my empathic tendencies. . .,” he winked at you with a grin on his full lips. “You should’ve known you couldn’t keep that shit from me. Not without me getting suspicious as hell.”

“Are you mad?”

He stuck his lip out, looking down at the tea, running his finger tip along the rim of the mug before he wrapped his hands around it again. Apparently not at a burning temperature anymore, he decided to bring the cup up to his lips, pinky up as he gripped the handle. This time, he closed his eyes in relief at the taste of the honeyed tea on his tongue. When he placed it back down, he continued watching it, lips still pushed out in a pout as he shook his head, brow wrinkled.

“Nah,” was all he supplied, his eyes hyper focused on the white ceramic mug.

Of course, you were not convinced. “Josh. Look at me.”

When his eyes slowly slid up to find yours, you found at least one reason he hadn’t been looking at you. There were wet pools accumulating in the ducts of his deep brown eyes. He breathed in deeply, his chest expanding with the giant breath before he blew it out, a lone tear making its way down his cheek.

“I–,” he started, shaking his head and messing with the front of his curly mop of hair. He dropped his hand to tap against the table. “It’s not that I’m mad. It’s really hard to make me mad. I’m more mad at Jake. He makes me mad very easily when he wants. Because I know he can do better. . . Like starting this with you and not having the balls to see it through and leaving you with a baby in your belly.” It was as if the steam had been transferred from his cup to his ears, his nostrils were flaring as he shook his head and squinted his eyes shut.

Damn, he and Jake look very similar when they get angry, you suddenly discovered.

“And now, he’s just been fucking Maya while you’ve had to deal with–.”

The tears came instantly. Your vision was blurry before you were even able to process that the tears were there.

“Oh my god, y/n. I’m so– fuck. I’m sorry,” Josh tried, his tone willing you to hear him out.

You blinked furiously, covering your eyes with one hand. But, finding it useless to try to hide the tears, you just let them fall freely as you now took deep breaths, your eyes piercing through the window of the cafe. “Can we please not–?”

“Y-yeah, Goddammit,” he nervously fluffed the front of his hair. “Y/n, please look at me.”

Forcing your eyes away from the clear autumn sky, you found his eyes, earnestly begging for you to listen to him. “He wasn’t– he hasn’t– I don’t–,” he growled under his breath, reaching forward for your hand. Which you only stared at until he spoke next. “Please, just take my hand.”

So, you did as he asked and looked at him with desperately sad eyes.

He watched you carefully for a few minutes, letting the tears leave as he reassured you and apologized a couple more times.

He cleared his throat, blinking his eyes a few times before apparently deciding on a new conversation. “When did you guys begin. . .?”

You knew he was asking when you’d started fucking his brother. But he obviously wasn’t going to say it.

Nice turn in conversation, Josh.

“It’s complicated,” you offered wetly, not in the mood to talk.

He hummed, before raising a brow with searching eyes. He was trying to get through to you. “Was it that night at Baby’s All Right?”

How the fuck did he know that–?

But, like you said, it was more complicated–because, no, it really didn’t start at Baby’s.

“Technically," you sniffled, swiping a finger, then a thumb under both of your eyes. "It started before and after that night. It was a long, drawn out thing that shouldn’t have ever started.”

Instantly, you felt guilty.

The words felt wrong to say. . .the first thing coming to your mind – the baby.

If it hadn’t started, you wouldn’t have the baby. The sweet little bean in your belly with a beautiful, beating heart. You placed a steady hand against your tummy to make up for the harsh words.

And the second thing. . . you couldn’t begin to imagine never getting to be that close to Jake. . . you were grateful it had started. . . But you also hated yourself for ever letting yourself get so tied up in Jake Kiszka.

Figuratively and literally. God. Stupid.

“Yes, it should have,” he affirmed, your eyes flickering to him. “For my niece or nephew alone.”

“You’re right,” you agreed, eyes filling with more tears at the conversation and the spiraling thoughts in your mind. “But, I guess, if we are getting technical. . .," you sniffed. "It started that night he left the venue so pissed and you were equally as pissed with him.”

He seemed to think on that for a second or two, trying to go back to the night to which you were referring. Once he finally found it, his eyes lit up with a twitch on his lips.

“He was mad that night,” he remembered, his hand squeezing yours. You decided to pull yours away from his as you felt it beginning to perspire. Wiped them on your pants, waiting for him to continue. “And now I know why. You weren’t there.”

“Essentially, yes,” you confirmed with a tilt of your head. You couldn't help but snicker with the next part. “It started when I got home.”

Josh’s lips stretched to the point that his eyes bulged and his cheeks puffed out. He blew out a breath while his eyes stayed huge. “And that is all I need to know about that night.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his expression and his words, to which he lightened with you, falling into a soft moment of laughter alongside you.

When the humor died down, he took the initiative to speak. And you let him. You really weren’t feeling like talking. The smells of the cafe, for one, were starting to make your stomach turn. “I could’ve guessed that it started around that time,” he began. You quirked a brow, asking him to explain further. “He . . . he changed around that time.” You didn’t speak, which told him to continue. “You see, when he first got to New York, he was so fucking surly and rude. He wasn’t just like that with you, mama. He was short as hell with me, too. And the other guys got his bad side – especially Sammy. His heart was broken and he didn’t know how to handle his shit. He started coming back into himself around that time, though. . .Middle of summer. He sort of peaked around the middle of summer. And if I am doing the math right. . . that is when it was happening?”

You nodded an affirmation, impressed by the quick math.

“Yeah, he was Jake again,” he expressed, eyes tearing up again. “He was joyful for the first time in years. I hadn’t seen him act so freely and fun since before he and Amelia started dating. There was always something stopping him when he was with her – she was stopping him. But you. . . you must’ve encouraged him to be himself. You didn’t turn down the challenge. You took a chance on my brother.”

After considering the words, the lightbulb appeared above your head. That conversation the day in the record shop. The same day you’d played over and over again to convince yourself out of being with Jake. You’d focused on the other words so much that you’d forgotten all about the positive things–the possibilities that had been discussed that day.

You remembered it now. You'd been talking about high school. And how Jake had sort of decided to fuck all when Josh hadn't. . . and it had turned into you bringing up your love of a challenge.

Josh had nodded, lips turned down, his eyes still holding a little glint. “Yup. Get my point now?”

“Yeah, but like I just said, I’m not one to turn down a challenge. Just like you, Josh. And your brother. . .I’ve learned he is nothing if not a challenge.”

He had nodded, knowing you were right. And he’d known you long enough to know that you did indeed enjoy overcoming any problem life may hand you.

God, what had happened to you? Where had the desire to accomplish challenges gone?

Why had you given up? Had you given him up? Or had you simply been done with that challenge? Had Jake just been ready to fly? Had you done what was best?

But, you sidelined those thoughts and decided there were more important matters at hand. Like Josh telling you more about how he was feeling.

“So. . . you’re not hurt?” You asked, your voice hoarse from not talking. You cleared it, and tried again. “You’re not hurt?”

“A little, I guess,” he nodded, eyes studying you.

“That’s fair,” you encouraged – glad he was sharing his heart. “I’m sorry for not telling you. But I just kept hearing your voice in my head–that same day we talked about challenges– that same day you’d told me something and it repeated itself over and over to the point that I tried to resist things happening with Jake. Mostly for you, Josh. I didn’t want to betray you. Didn't want him to betray his dreams. But then it just became something bigger that I couldn’t control. It was . . . different than anything else I’ve ever experienced. I couldn’t stop it from happening.”

“Did you want to stop it?”

“I tried to convince myself that I wanted to . . . but I never did. Not really. I wanted him the whole time, but I felt wrong for it. I was totally disregarding what you’d said to me. . . Going against your wishes for him.”

His eyes got big as he took another sip of his tea, that at this point, was probably lukewarm. But if it was, his face didn’t show it. He licked at his lips and peered at you pensively, curiously. “God, y/n. I’m sorry. What did I even say? I don’t remember,” he sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I hate that my words have been just fuckin’ tormenting you, mama. I’m so sorry.”

“No,” you said, pointing your finger at him, your eyes serious to communicate your point. “You don’t be sorry. I’m the one who was in the wrong. Not even Jake, necessarily,” you included the last part, just on Jake’s behalf. “I was the one who did it even after you’d confided in me that you were happy Jake was getting to live life for himself for the first time – without having to worry about being hung up on a girl. And, then I just let myself be that girl you didn’t want for him – I was the girl to get in his way while he should’ve been living for himself.”

“In the spirit of fairness, though, I told him that he needed to take a break from women. He didn’t listen to me either. Well, sort of. . . he actually did follow my advice, I guess,” he encouraged, his eyes searching yours. “Because I also told him that I wanted him to think of what he wanted first.” His tone lifted as he winked at you.

Your brow wrinkled . . . what was he trying to say?

He continued, “Which, I guess, my dear, after the dream . . . was you.”

Feeling suddenly lightheaded and loopy with Josh’s words, you let them settle for a minute or two before saying anything more.

And, the waitress had perfect timing. She filled the open air by asking if you needed anything. First time she’d been back in a hot damn second. Josh asked for a new tea, and you asked for another glass of Sprite.

All that you could think in that moment was that you really had been the opposite of the right thing for Jake. So, you decided to speak your mind.

“But. . . no,” you declined his words, shaking your head. “No, Josh. He didn’t put himself first – he had a woman – me – that he was focused on instead of learning himself.”

He took a bit to consider your words, his eyes squinted at you as he pursed his lips. The waitress came back to the table as the conversation lulled for his response.

As soon as she left, though, the two of you were back to it.

“Y/n,” he began, his lips growing into a sure smile. His hands came to clasp in front of him, his hair bouncing with each disbelieving shake of his head. “He did. He moved here. He started pursuing the dream. He got a job he loved by teaching lessons.” Thus meeting Maya, you snarkily thought. “He did put himself first. Did all of that, and then he pursued you.”

. . . you hadn’t really thought of it that way. Not once had you considered that.

God. What if you’d told Josh a long time ago? Chances were, he would’ve eased your fears and worries. . . but instead, you’d assumed he’d think the worst and let your thoughts derail.

Would you even be in the predicament you were today?

You knew the answer. The answer was most likely no. You wouldn’t have the baby because there would’ve never been a night - the night - to relieve your Jake-induced stress. Because you would have already taken the time to talk to Josh. . . He would have reassured you before you even had time to ever get to that depressive point.

Would he have convinced you to be with Jake?

You didn’t know. . . but. . . it was too late now.

You were where you were now and there was nothing you could do about it.

And none of this ever worked in how Maya had already been in the picture – maybe she had been part of the reason he became happier in the middle of summer.

In the end, she could be the one to thank for this– it could most definitely not be you. The sad truth of the matter was, she had probably been filling his cup all along. . .while he was filling yours.

While you were letting yourself get tangled in him, he was feeling the same emotions. . . but for her. Because, in the end, she was easier than you.

You couldn't find it in good conscience to be with him anyway.

Because, well, you still wouldn’t have wanted to distract him from his dream with a relationship. His dream was too valuable to possibly table for you. You were too much of a mess that he could get distracted by, rather than taking the time to fulfill his dream.

She freed up his time with her carefree nature. And you only infiltrated his time with your darkness. She was sunshine, brightening up his paths.

You had to figure you out before you could ever make someone as happy as Maya made Jake.

Before you had this baby.

However the tables turned, they had already turned. And it was too late to go back and change anything now. You weren’t even sure what you would change–or what you would think if you could turn back time. There was too much filling up your brain–your life– to make the wisest decision.

It didn’t matter anyway.

So, you told Josh all you could think to say. The same words you’d thrown nastily in Jake’s face, you threw harshly in your own.

“Well, I guess I served my purpose.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

When Josh pulled your car into your space, Jake’s was nowhere to be found. As always, you couldn't help but wonder where he was. He hadn't worked today so he was probably with-.

“I really am most mad at my brother.”

“Try not to be,” you encouraged lamely. You really didn’t care too much about him being angry at anyone right now. . . all you really cared about was getting upstairs to your bed to take a nice, long nap. It had been a day.

“I’m going to be for a whi–.”

Tap tap tap.

Both of your eyes turned to Josh’s window. Outside of the driver’s side was Jake. You could see all the way down his loose shirt. It was open and tempting his tanned skin and firm chest, while his necklaces hung loosely in front of him, as he was bent over to peek into the car.

But. . . you could see the heated glare from his eyes, even through the tint of his Ray-Bans. His nostrils were flared and his lips had curled into a faux smirk.

When Josh rolled his window down, you heard Jake's breathy chuckles that had no indication of anything truly humorous behind them. They sounded more bitter than anything else.

“What have you two been up to?” he questioned, the inflection on the word ‘you’ paired with his snide tone told you he was probably less than thrilled to see you and Josh together. Alone, at that.

But why? Why the fuck would he care?

You were struck completely motionless and silent, feeling nauseous again, desperately trying to swallow down that all too familiar sensation. But this time, it wasn’t due to the hormones wreaking havoc in your tummy, it was Jake’s presence at this incredibly horrid time that had your belly flipping in slow motion somersaults.

Josh huffed a laugh that nearly replicated Jake’s. Mimicking his twin to further his irritation, no doubt. You knew Josh was in no mood to put up with Jake’s piss-poor attitude, especially given everything he had discovered. You were tightly holding your breath at whatever the hell could possibly come from Josh's mouth, hoping that he would say as little as possible.

“Funny that you should ask, Jacob,” Josh retorted. He turned his head to the left to make eye contact with his twin, his fingers were still gripped to the steering wheel with a force that turned his knuckles stark white.

What was he about to say? Shit. He knew better. . . right?

“Because," Josh began. "I don’t exactly believe it’s any of your business what we're doing. In fact, I know it’s none of your business.”

Ironic. . . because it most definitely was his business. He just didn’t know it. Not yet.

He flashed Jake his classic Josh grin, extra wide with eyes squinted, an extra, added dramatic flair of his fluttering eyelashes to seal his condescending statement.

You let out the breath you had been holding, thankful that Josh kept from saying too much. This was not how you wanted Jake to find out. Although, you still had no idea when or how you would approach that.

All you knew for sure, was that this wasn’t the right time.

Jake had stood firm the entire time, a brow raised with an obviously fake grin that held his lips in a tight line. His first response was a snicker through his nose and a patronizing simper, just shy of a full on scowl.

“‘Kay, got it,” he sneered. Then, he was patting the side of the driver's door with his opened palm before swiftly turning on his heel to walk away. He forcibly shoved his hands in the front pockets of his black jeans as he sauntered off, and you couldn’t help but notice how it stretched the fabric even tighter against his perfectly, rounded ass. A sight you still fawned over, admittedly.

How could you not?

But you broke your gaze quickly once Josh turned to face you once again. Even though he finally knew about the special addition that you shared with his brother, you’d still feel awkward (and a little guilty) as fuck if he watched you gawk over him so openly. Especially on a day so sensitive as today.

Josh had let out an exasperated sigh deep from his lungs, his jaw clenched and hard when he finally shut the humming engine off. “I have so much that I want to say to him,” he muttered, mostly to himself as his tone was hushed.

Yeah. Me fucking too, you thought to yourself. Don’t you think I get it?

Without the engine running, the car had become dead silent. The type of silence that allowed you to hear the rapid beating of your own heart clearly in your ears. (You even thought for a moment that you could hear Josh’s, too. That kind of quiet. Like earlier. Right after you'd told him.)

It gave you time to ponder. . . Despite his incredible response to all of this today, you still worried. Because, for the first time in the literal years of having Josh as your safe haven, you feared that things could have changed far too much for him to ever look at you the same again.

But then, your never ending train of overthinking was put to a halt when he placed a loving hand on your knee. When his warm eyes connected with yours, they reassured you that he wasn’t planning on going anywhere. At least not anytime soon.

“You ready to go inside, mama?”

His sweet smile that you had loved for years lit up his once hard features. Seeing the signature grin lifted some weight off your heavy shoulders.

You nodded your head and unbuckled your seatbelt as he did the same. But as you lifted the latch on the passenger door, another thought began clouding your mind, a question that you felt you needed to ask someone. That you needed to ask Josh.

“Hey. . .,” you started as he already had one foot out the door.

He stalled his movements and promptly turned his head to face you.

“Yeah?” he answered, the same smile still cocked in the corner of his mouth.

“When should I tell him?”

He situated himself back inside, resting his back against the dark leather. His eyes were cast on yours, soft and kind as you’d always known them to be, yet a seriousness found within them.

“That’s up to you, mama. You have to decide when the time feels right.” His gentle hand reached to grab your shoulder in a reassuring gesture, effectively pulling you away from your burdening thoughts.

Once you’d finally made your way out of the car, you heard him clear his throat and looked to see what else he had to say. He was squinting at you through the autumn day’s rays when he finished the line of thought he’d started in the car.

“But. . . knowing my twin, he’d want to know sooner rather than later. Don’t wait too long, love. He’s got a good heart, you know that. Give him the chance to step up like I know he will.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

Friday, November 11, 2022

You’d missed the show completely. As you knew you would.

Josh had known you were going to show up later than usual since your school work was (quite actually) burying you. Specifically, it was thanks to a 20-page paper that was due tonight.

Thankfully, you’d been able to finish it in time to at least meet the boys at the bar (smoke free, Josh had clarified on the phone) they’d decided to hang out at after the show. You hadn’t hung out with them after a show in forever. Hadn’t even been to a show in. . .well, you didn’t even know how long.

The reason could be mostly chalked up to your intense homework load this semester, but part of you knew you’d also been trying to avoid them due to the addition of Maya.

It just didn’t feel the same anymore. And you knew you couldn’t force yourself to pretend. So, the extra school work turned out to be a pretty good excuse. At least you weren’t fabricating anything when you’d told them you couldn’t make it. (Although you would prefer if you didn’t have so much fucking homework.)

But you did miss watching Jake perform. You missed the faces he’d make while playing his guitar, the ones that so closely resembled the one’s he’d make with you. The way he’d thrust himself into his beloved instrument, or pull it close to his body with a force that left your head reeling and your body in dire need for him.

As much as you missed all of that, something you missed even more was witnessing how his passion exuded through his entire body while he played. How his love for his art was so wonderfully evident as he put so much of himself into every song he played.

And with the way your body kept betraying you – literally pulsing with desire for him anytime he was simply near you . . . to the point of needing to relieve yourself with your hands or a toy. . . You were weak as fuck. You figured it probably wasn’t the best idea to watch him perform like that with your hormones going ballistic.

Too many factors worked together to make you feel rather uncomfortable about being near him in that capacity. But. . . here you were. Waiting at the bar for them to arrive.

Putting yourself in a situation where he’d inevitably be near – sitting at the same booth as you, most likely. Admittedly, it wasn’t your most incredible idea. But Josh telling you the other guys had been missing you made you realize how badly you’d missed them.

So. Here you were. Scrolling on pregnant influencers’ Instagram pages for helpful tips and testimonials (and occasionally Jake’s page, just to torture yourself) as you waited for them.

Just as you’d thought to send Josh a text letting him know you were at the bar and sitting at a booth near the back, you felt the urge to pee like no other. Your belly had sort of popped in the few days that had transpired since your first ultrasound. You were learning that twelve weeks on your body was the. . . rounder version of twelve weeks. . . Which was not working in your favor to hide your changing body.

Thankfully, the rest of your body looked mostly the same as normal – save for your boobs which were still about as big as they were in your Shining twin costume (not growing too much more yet, but continuing to be sore as hell). They weren’t giant, per se, but they definitely looked noticeably bigger and felt fucking heavy.

So, you were officially having to wear looser-fitting clothing to avoid anyone looking at you differently. To be fair, to most eyes, it probably would've looked like some weight gain around your midsection if you wore normal clothing. But to you, it literally just looked like you were pregnant.

You were definitely getting used to waking up every morning to a body that looked just a little different than the day before. Noticed every little change—but they didn’t feel little to you. . . Anything that changed felt massive to you.

. . .Hence why you were being overly cautious with the giant sweaters. . . Because, to you, it looked so obviously different that you didn’t want to risk people thinking anything or asking any questions.

And, thanks to your newly expanding uterus and a spike in your progesterone (according to your Ovia app), you were beginning to actually wiggle in your seat from the urge to pee. It was all rather unkind on your poor bladder. . . You had to fucking relieve yourself soon or you would be peeing your leggings. It would be embarrassing as hell to pee yourself and smell like it for the entire evening.

Though, you realized, as people started filtering in, that you couldn’t get up to pee. . . It was too much of a risk that you’d lose the one big booth to this hastily growing Friday night crowd.

Just as you’d started contemplating your lack of options, a particular laugh you’d gotten (unfortunately) used to, made its way through the crowded bar. Your eyes zoomed to the dark haired, caramel-skinned beauty who’d taken up residence in Jake’s life.

Maya.

Her laugh was just as beautiful as she was. . . Directing every eye in the front of the establishment to her as they joined in on whatever she was laughing about. She was a force to be reckoned with and it was obvious anytime you saw her. You were pretty sure you could see her chocolate eyes actually sparkling, all the way from across the bar.

Then, here you were in a giant ass Pratt hoodie with plain black, ratty leggings and your white Chucks. Feeling bloated and gross. . . And still needing to really fucking pee. So you had to put your insecurities to the side and get up from the spot you’d effectively heated up for the last twenty minutes because your one and only solution had just walked in.

You didn’t want to walk away and lose your spot, so you did the only thing you could think to do.

“Maya!” You called in her direction, tucking your phone into your hoodie pocket with one hand while the other waved at her. An incredibly forced smile was plastered to your face.

Is this the first time I’ve ever spoken to her? You wondered briefly.

Even though you knew the answer.

Yes, definitely the first time I’ve ever talked to her. Weird. And funny fucking cause for it, too, you giggled to yourself, just behind your close-mouthed grin.

It was as if she’d already seen you, because she looked at you with a knowing look. She sent you a (stupid) wink and a (stupid, yet admittedly kind) wave, along with a wide smile—bright white teeth complimented by her full lips.

Standing up had caused your bladder to go into emergency mode—a sensation similar to nearly bursting was the only way you could describe it. And, strangely, you suddenly felt sort of dizzy from the overwhelming pressure.

That’s odd, you thought absently, brows wrinkling ever so slightly with the feeling. Ignoring it, you kept waving. And, the smile slipped from your face as you urgently motioned her over. Getting the hint, she said goodbye to the few patrons she’d been talking with and made her way to you.

Long, wavy hair, inky as the night sky, flowed in waves around her shoulders as she sweetly pushed through people on the way to the booth.

Every man she passed had to do a double take, watching her as she passed by them. . . You didn’t blame them. She was a fucking dream. (And you hated it.)

Body positively snatched and voluptuous in her all-black outfit. Her large breasts, exposed just right in her extremely low-cut black shirt. The shirt dipped all the way to the middle of her rib cage, exposing a lot of her perfect, perky breasts and tight abdomen. The tiny waist just below the dip was intimidating at best and had you feeling extremely self conscious of your nearly non-existent waist (thanks to the tiny friend living inside of you). You were glad you couldn’t see her ass, because you knew the exquisitely round part of her would have you heading for the door rather than the restroom.

God, why did she have to look like a damn model? It was the worst possible thing for you. You were sure of it.

Once she was finally at the table, you didn’t want to stand there and stare at her. She had you feeling ready to jump out of your unfamiliar, changing body. Made you feel like nothing, just by standing there.

And, most importantly, you were nearing the risk of peeing with a singular movement at this point. You really weren’t sure how you’d make it to the restroom, but you had to try.

You were already toeing around the table, out of the booth, when you spoke to her, averting your eyes and finding the restroom sign instead. “I’ve gotta pee really fucking bad,” you hastily said, taking the final step from the back of the booth. “Can you save this table for me so we have a place to sit?”

“We?” She questioned. “Y/n, I would definitely normally save it for you and your friends, but I have to work on finding my own place since I’m waiting here for Jake and the—.”

“Jake and the guys, I know.” You snapped, eyes flashing as you finished for her, not focusing on your facial expression. You were almost positive you rolled your eyes at her comment.

Does she not know? Why? Did no one tell her?

Bouncing on the heels of your feet, back and forth, you quickly continued. Matter at hand. “I’m here to hang with you guys, too, but I’ve gotta—.”

“Pee!” She finished, a giggle that was probably supposed to be cute left her lips. “Go! I’ll save it. Go, go, go!”

You were already walking away with her last sentence, hearing her from behind your back as you focused on not wetting your pants on the way to the ladies room.

-🌼🌼🌼-

When you got back out, you were instantly met with the sight of all of the guys at the back booth you’d saved.

Your eyes, sadly, found Jake and Maya first – sitting practically on top of each other in the back corner of the booth. She was wrapped up in Jake, while engaging in a conversation with Sam. And, even though she seemed to only be halfway listening, Sammy kept on talking like she was interested in only him.

But with the way Jake’s hand toyed with the hair over her shoulder and eventually traveled to squeeze (and hold) her waist. . . you knew why she wasn’t fully listening. Sammy would not be getting her full attention any time soon, and you knew that from personal experience. If it were you Jake was playing with like that, you would have tuned Sam completely out.

Pushing any emotion down that threatened to boil up to the surface, you kept on walking to the booth.

And when you got close enough, all of the attention was suddenly on you. The first one to notice you was Danny, who got up from his end seat on the booth to greet you with a giant hug. You sank into him, feeling all of the love that he was emitting sink into your sore body.

Then, Sam was loudly exclaiming your presence, telling you that he was waiting for his own hug.

You went around the three brothers who wanted to give you a squeeze.

Sam hugged you especially hard, making your boobs ache like no other when he pressed hard against you. Gratefully, Josh had been paying attention when you caught his eye with a pained expression and had loudly determined that it was his turn.

After Josh had grasped you from Sam and given a loose hug, you stood awkwardly. Waiting. But for what?

But. . .you knew what. . .knew why.

It was Jake’s turn.

Though, all you got was a little close-lipped smile and a half-wave with a head nod from his spot next to his supermodel girlfriend.

You reciprocated with essentially the same response, your stomach falling to your feet as you did so. It was ludicrous to think he’d get up for a hug, too. Especially with Maya sitting next to him with her perfectly-fucking-manicured hand clutching the inside of his thigh.

God, you needed to feel him close to you, though. You needed your hand on his inner thigh, dangerously close to a place on his body that’d been so accustomed to yours. You couldn’t help the way you yearned for him to be inside of you again. . . It was fucking embarrassing as hell.

And, then there was an incredibly intrusive thought.

It told you that, for some (strange) reason, the idea of his pecs pressing into your sore breasts. . .sounded extremely appealing. (And the thought of his hands or his warm, wet mouth on them? Fuck.)

But— you knew at this point, there was a fat chance of that ever happening.

He didn’t want you near him like that. And definitely not his hands or mouth on you. So you were sure he did not want a measly hug either.

And right now? In this bar? At this exact time? Obviously-fucking-not. Why would he move away from perfection? For you? In your frumpy-ass outfit? As you glanced down self-consciously, you even noticed one white sock peeking way higher than the other from your high-tops.

Small details. Small details that showed how much of a fucking mess you were in comparison to her.

When you heard his laugh cut through the wave of emotion you were feeling, you looked back up at him. Only to see that he was engaged with Maya and Sam in some (apparently) hilarious conversation.

He didn’t give two shits about you that way anymore. Why would he?

The terrible things you’d said to him in the kitchen were the first reason that came to your mind. Haunted you everyday, reminding you that you didn’t deserve his attention.

You bet she, in her utter perfection and 'sunshiney' ways, would never tell him the things you had. He was probably relishing in the mental break she provided him. A break from the emotional thunderstorm that was you.

But what the two lovebirds didn’t know was that you were carrying a part of him within you that she couldn’t do a thing about. No matter what she was to him, she didn’t have what you did.

Though, the depressing truth of the matter was even if you were carrying his baby, Maya was still the one falling asleep next to him more nights than not. You had a piece of him, yes, but she had all of him.

Fuck. That felt selfish. Without even thinking about it, you brought your hands up to your stomach as an effort to apologize to the little lemon-sized baby in your tummy.

You are enough for me, you desperately thought, looking down, hoping to translate the words somehow to your unborn bundle of hope. You give me plenty of joy.

“Y/n,” Josh spoke, breaking you from your reverie.

“Mmm?” You hummed.

Then he was leaning over, whispering so quietly in your ear. “You’re about to give particular notice to your stomach.”

Shit. You instantly dropped your hand, looking around to make sure no one had noticed.

Thankfully, no one had.

You mouthed a ‘thank you’ to your best friend, and scooted into the space he and Daniel had left for you, between them, on their side.

Sitting again helped to balance you, as the dizziness from earlier kept coming back in tiny spurts. You didn’t know what it was all about, but you knew it was probably something attributed to pregnancy. It was probably something normal that you didn’t need to be worried about.

But, you figured having someone to lean on would help to keep you steady. So, you found Josh’s shoulder, pressing against him. It was more than necessary, so you let your shoulder lazily lay against his arm. The closeness to a safe person felt overwhelmingly comforting in the otherwise emotionally-wrought headspace you were experiencing.

-🌼🌼🌼-

About an hour later, you found yourself humming along to the music that had gotten progressively louder over the time you’d been sitting with the guys. Getting lost in the melodies felt nice. And you’d noticed, walking in that night, that it was soul music night, according to the sign on the front door of the bar.

Your favorite.

After sitting with them for only a few minutes, making small talk with Sam and Danny to catch up, you’d essentially let yourself become an observer. You’d just listened to them talk about all of these new, sudden opportunities that were coming around for them.

So much was changing.

They were essentially done with the smaller gigs. Their label’s management had put their foot down that they were done with those. They wanted them going to more popular, reputable places to get their name out there. The label had taken it upon themselves to work with their manager to put them in bigger venues. They’d even begun advertising the boys with promotional pictures and posters all over active streets in Brooklyn.

“We’ve had photoshoots, y/n,” Sam had boasted in wonder at one point, making sure to involve you in the conversation. “Photoshoots! Like, real rockstar things.”

“‘S fucking nuts,” Daniel agreed, nodding beside you, sending you a small smile. “People working on wardrobe for us and all that shit.”

“Well, you are rockstars,” you told Sammy genuinely, letting your eyes skate to each of the boys (save for one). But, when you finished your statement, you let your eyes find him. And his eyes literally melted into yours. Like he’d been waiting for you to acknowledge him. “You’ve been ready for this for a long time. I’m just glad you are finally getting to live it.”

But you tore your gaze away before it could become too much. Though, the snicker you heard from Maya made your eyes cut to her. You forced yourself to hold your tongue. Didn’t trust yourself with what might come out of your mouth. What had her feeling all bitter and shit? She didn’t get the fucking half of it.

That particular thought had your hands falling to clasp tightly against your tummy, thankfully hidden by the table.

They’d also begun working on their first album (which you knew about), but its release date had officially been set in stone for May. It was daunting for you and felt huge to you, so you couldn’t imagine how it felt for them.

It was all moving so fast. . . Which, if you were being honest, terrified you for what was to come in the near future. The little bean that was set to arrive around the time of the album’s release. Because of all of your recent . . .changes, it just felt like a terrible time for things to feel so unsure and abnormal.

You knew it was selfish to feel that way. You did. It was just impossible to not feel worried and anxious.

The stress inevitably started climbing up into your upper back, creating tension. And, Josh, being Josh, must’ve sensed a change in your demeanor. He’d wrapped his arm around your shoulders when you started feeling all bunched up and jittery. You’d leaned into it, needing the incredible amount of comfort in his embrace and presence.

The music was setting your mind at ease from the tension you felt in your body. It also helped to alleviate the awkward air you felt with the proximity of Jake’s guest. Who sat there looking so beautiful all night. Jake’s arm hadn’t left her shoulders all night, twirling her long waves between his long fingers. You had to look away at several points. It didn’t take long for the sight to become too much. Your ever-present nausea only increased by watching them.

So you didn’t watch. Didn’t allow yourself to look at him.

You breathed in the music. The music saved you. You just listened to the music. The world was a blur.

But, when they all joined in on mutual excitement, all smiles and voices getting louder, you tuned back in just slightly.

And when you did, they were talking about one particular thing they were all looking forward to: a special event of sorts that was coming up.

Apparently it was a huge thing for this event to take place. One final step before embracing the stardom. It would happen in a few months’ time — once the label execs heard a few songs, and released them as singles. Then, they would get to preview them to the public.

It would be an intimate type of event, more like old times, but for a few semi-important people who worked for the tour management team and whoever else wanted to come. It would be a listening party where the boys would play their new music. And according to the boys, it was the label’s attempt to get an idea of touring being a possibility.

A lot of it was pinned on if the turnout was good. On how the guys interacted with the crowd. How the performed. . . It would be a sort of audition for the tour management team.

“I have faith that they’ll love us,” Sammy said, buzzing with excitement. “I’m speaking that shit into existence.”

The rest of the guys agreed.

Your eyes inadvertently snapped to Jake when he spoke next. “And once we start touring. . .,” he said, grin huge and his eyes shining at the other guys. “That’s when it all becomes fucking real. And it’ll be here before we even know it.”

Your stomach fell.

Josh squeezed your knee after he’d said it, knowing exactly what you were thinking.

Your thoughts were fucking spiraling. Looking down, you closed your eyes to will the tears away— tried your best to be subtle with your bundled up emotions.

You felt so excited for him. You wanted it for them—for him. All along, you’d wanted him to live his dream. The one he’d had for so long. But the idea of him going off and away. . . All of them being so far away, all of the time, right at the time your life would be inevitably changing for the rest of forever. . . It was a lot to wrap your mind around.

It had your stomach tied in fucking knots—the idea of Jake being a dad, but not getting to be one. Leaving you. Leaving the baby. It wouldn’t be a bad thing, per se, but it was going to hurt like hell.

You swore, right then and there, that you would not let him give it up for anything. Not a baby, definitely not you (not that he’d want to abandon it for you) — it was the last thing you wanted. The last thing that would happen.

He would live the dream. Even if you had to force him to do so.

No matter how badly you already knew you’d want him around during that massively transformative time. . . You were capable of doing it on your own. And Elsie would help. She would most definitely be around, you already knew.

But. . . Jake.

You shoved the thoughts down to the tresses of hell, literally planting your feet flat on the floor to center yourself to present time. Shifting a bit, you laid your head on Josh’s shoulder, letting your eyes drift closed after a while. Didn’t sleep, no, but you felt like you could have. Your body felt loose and weak from the night’s stress slowly leaving your body as you focused on Josh’s steady breathing and the music.

As the night wore on, the volume had ended up getting so loud that everyone practically had to yell at one another to have a conversation, even within the close confines of the booth.

So, you had to blink your eyes open at that point. It was too much. The over-stimulation was soon approaching. You could feel it. You felt. . . heavier than normal. Like, you were being pulled down to the earth with exhaustion. Which was new, but probably just over-stimulation.

Even with your eyes open, they were hooded. You were so tired, you felt as though you couldn’t open them much more. And the dizziness from earlier was back with force.

So you focused on swaying your body a little to the rhythm of each song, tapping out the beat of each on the table. Josh had instinctively begun humming along with you while still managing to keep conversation with everyone else. He’d sneak the occasional smile to give a sign of him remaining loyal to your company as well as the others’.

The melodious harmonies of Stevie Wonder’s "Please Don't Go" had been a surprise, as it was a more unpopular hit of his. It was a welcome distraction to listen to a song you knew well over the speakers, for all ears to hear. Nothing beat hearing songs you loved, playing in public spaces.

Oh, Stevie. His songs had historically been known to bring you peace. Always had. Always would. Stevie's music never failed to meet you where you were emotionally. This song, not being an exception, and hitting extremely close to home for the present time. . . But still, the tension you’d felt all night began to dissipate, sizzling out almost completely with the beautiful ending of the track.

Just as the heavy weight of your anxieties you’d carried all night had lifted, the next song started to ring throughout the building.

Only this time, the feeling it gave you was a far cry from the previous.

You knew it instantly. You’d be able to hear this song even if it weren’t blaring throughout the building.

As soon as the first note sounded, it sent a vibration straight to your heart and a swarm of butterflies (that actually felt more like bees) to your tummy.

You hadn’t looked at him yet, but you felt Jake’s eyes piercing through you.

You didn’t want to look at him. Not yet.

Your hormones had been far too out of whack for that. You knew you’d cry instantly upon seeing his face while this song played at a volume that you now wish was much, much lower.

Aretha’s powerhouse voice repeated it over and over again.

You’re all I need to get by, you’re all I need to get by, you’re all I need. . .

No, you weren’t looking at Jake. But he was still the only vision clouding your mind’s eye.

You were back on your living room floor. . . his eyebrows bunched together with each heavy thrust into you, the sweat that accumulated between them, the perspiration and exertion that could only come from real intimacy. . .passion.

And it was plain to see that you were my destiny. . .

His coffee colored eyes that bore into you as his body connected with yours in the most intimate way that it could’ve.

And when I lose my will, you’ll be there to push me up that hill. . .

How he filled you so completely, stretching you the only way you ever wanted. . . How, in that moment, it felt like he was made to fit you. Your body, your heart, your life.

I don’t know what’s in store, but together we can open any door. . .

Without even meaning to, your eyes met his.

And while Maya was going on about whatever she felt the need to talk about, he was watching you. His eyes were extremely thoughtful. . . So much being communicated behind them.

If you were delusional, you’d even go so far as to say he was admiring you. . . The way his eyes flashed a bit as you watched him, too.

But you weren’t delusional.

Though, you just knew that he was thinking the same thing as you. . . He knew. He knew this song was special.

And as much as you attempted to not wear your emotions, with your condition, it was impossible.

You felt your eyes prick with tears as the song came to an end, and you quickly put your head down for what you knew was coming. And when the small drop hit your cheek, as soon as it appeared, you wiped it away.

You looked back up, sniffing once and shaking your head.

Why did I have to fucking look?

“God, I wish they’d play music from this century here for once. Or at least something halfway decent,” Maya snickered, her attention on Jake, pulling his gaze away from you with her ignorant remark. “This song could put me straight to sleep. Music like this is meant to be left in the past where it belongs.”

What the hell? What was even the point?

What she said had your blood boiling with red hot rage. Of course she had to pick this song to insert her disgusting opinion.

And how was Jake, of all people, in a relationship with someone who thought so little of older music? How did he put up with that shit? It would be really fucking hard to hear things like that all the time if you were in his shoes.

A look of pure disgust washed over Josh’s face, and you knew he wouldn’t take her shit laying down. Not when it came to good, classic soul music. Not to mention, Aretha was one of his biggest vocal inspirations. “How can you not appreciate the Queen of Soul? She paved the way for singers of every genre, her voice is timeless and immaculate. To criticize her is to criticize all music.”

His defensive tone had everyone silent for an almost uncomfortable amount of time.

You wanted to chime in and let her know that you agreed with everything he said. But you felt it best to keep your mouth shut given the real reason you were so pissed. Didn’t trust your emotions to stay steady enough to get your point across.

This was personal.

To your shock, it was Jake that ended up breaking the awkward silence at the table. “You know, babe, some of us have some pretty significant memories tied back to music like this,” he asserted, sharply, pulling away from her, dropping his arm from her shoulders to look at her better. “This song specifically. . . At least for me.”

Your heart leapt into your throat at what he was implying. Significant? He couldn’t mean. . .? But then he flashed his eyes to you. And you knew.

Fuck, Jake. The butterflies let completely loose in your tummy at the implication. At the look.

He continued, his voice growing softer, while staying assertive. “And it could very possibly be hurtful to others when you say surface level shit like that.”

Maya scoffed, rolling her eyes. This was the first time you’d ever witnessed the woman be something other than a dream. “So I can’t have opinions, hm?”

“I never said—,” Jake tried, getting interrupted by her continuing.

She was piercing him with a glare, tone biting. “Did you ever stop to think about how it hurt my feelings when you refused to see 21 Savage with me? And after I got us the tickets, no less?”

You didn’t mean to snort a small laugh at her words.

But. . . 21 Savage?!

Thankfully, you weren’t alone in finding amusement in the words as everyone else had a similar response. Sammy spit out the drink he’d just taken, some of it even coming out of his nose. Daniel had clapped a hand over his mouth and dragged it down his face, closing his eyes in the process.

And Josh turned to you as soon as you turned your sights to him. He made eyes at you, raising his brows with a grin threatening to turn into a laugh. If he could’ve spoken, you assumed he’d say something along the lines of ‘oh, shit.’

Sam was the next to speak, barely able to catch a breath as he wiped the leftover drink from around his mouth with a napkin. “Maya, my dear,” he giggled, the words distorted a little by the wipe of the napkin. “You surely can’t have an emotional connection with his music?”

“Maybe I do,” she retorted, scooting away from Jake a little. Crossing her arms over her cleavage, she eyed Sammy, judgmentally. “Maybe it saw me through some really hard times.”

“Did it?” Danny tried, his face seeming earnest in pursuit to find sense in her music taste.

“Well,” her eyes found Danny’s, but darted around a bit, still. “Not necessarily. . . But I do enjoy his music. . . Which is my prerogative.”

Josh’s brow was quirked. He stared her down, his face a mixture of amusement and annoyance. “Maya,” he cleared his throat. Her eyes found him, hard and defensive. But it was obvious she was losing some steam. “There is a difference between enjoying music and having it change the entire trajectory of your entire life.”

Before she could sputter out a response, the waiter was back at the head of the table with the two pizzas the guys had ordered.

“One pepperoni pizza,” she said, placing one giant tray of pizza on the table.

Your nose immediately picked up on the overwhelming scent of cheese and pepperoni. You had never smelt something so greasy. This was even worse than the greasy smell at Waffle House on the morning you’d gone with Elsie. And where there, you could find some sort of nostalgic comfort in the smell of it. . . there was nothing that could make this pizza’s smell appealing. Fuck.

“And. . .,” Sammy’s excited tone broke through your nauseous reverie.

You didn’t look up, only watched in near agony as the second pizza, filled with every vegetable in the book, was sat right in front of you. Every fucking vegetable had it’s own special, rancid smell that you hadn’t ever noticed until now.

Goddamn. And it just got worse as you let your eyes follow a slice that Sam took off the tray, cheese so disgustingly stringy, to his waiting mouth. The way his teeth sunk into the pizza and the oil slipped down his chin. . . You felt the bile rise in the back of your throat at the sight. The dizziness set in again. Then there was the cheese that came to the corner of his mouth as he chewed his first bite with an open mouth.

Closing your eyes, you tried your best to will it away.

But you couldn’t. It was too late. Behind your closed eyes, all you could see was the sight again, but this time, in slow motion. . . more and more repulsive with every flash of the image.

You found Josh’s leg, hitting it repeatedly to indicate that you needed out of the booth. Your other hand, held tightly over your mouth, which felt as though it could explode with projectile vomit at any moment.

That would be real cute. A really effective way to make Jake look at you. . . but not for the reasons you’d want.

At. All.

Thankfully, Josh got the hint and quickly scooted out of the booth to allow you out.

And as soon as your feet hit the concrete floor, you were speeding to the bathroom once more. This time, immediately landing on your knees over the toilet with a hand clutching your hair, as you retched the (very little) contents of your stomach into the toilet.

It was alarming, to say the least, as you saw only clear saliva goo floating around in the bowl. . . no food accompanying the sickness you’d just produced.

I haven’t eaten today, you thought suddenly, wiping your brow of the sweat that had accumulated. Nothing to puke out because everything sounded vile.

And then the dizziness was setting in again as you rose from your place on the ground.

You really hadn’t been eating much at all. And pickles, being the only thing you could stand to eat, did not give you proper nutrients. You knew that.

Have to figure something out, you decided as you washed your hands. Disturbingly, you saw four hands instead of two and it was daunting at best. Need to go home and do some research so I can figure out how to fucking eat something.

By the time you got back to the booth, you already had your keys out of your belt bag.

Josh gave you a sympathetic grin. He mouthed an ‘I’m sorry’ and you just shook your head, reassuring him with a mimicked ‘It’s fine’ in response.

When you snapped your head up from Josh to say bye to the others, you realized that Jake was watching you closely. Pensively. Unsurely.

You gulped, setting your eyes on him. If only you knew, Jake. . . But, suddenly, anger was flaring in the place of any butterflies. Lack of food and pregnancy could do that to a person. But you don’t know. So quit looking at me.

“You feelin’ sick, Baby Dragon?” Sam said, breaking you out of your staring contest with Jake.

“Yeah, noticed you weren’t drinking tonight. . . you okay?” Danny interjected.

“O–Oh, yeah. No, yeah,” you shook your head, which only caused your head to throb. Shit. “Just tired. Exhausted from school.” And from carrying a human life in my uterus. “I wanna get home and rest.”

“I forced her to come tonight,” Josh added. He looked at you before exchanging looks with the other guys, emphasizing his point to help you out. “She has had her nose to the fucking grindstone. I insisted she needed a night out.”

“Forced her?” Jake scoffed with a roll of his eyes. “God, y/n. If you don’t want to come, then don’t come.”

You fumed at his words. What the fuck? Just minutes ago he was jumping to defend your song. “He didn’t force me,” you growled back at him. Don’t test a pregnant woman carrying your goddamn baby, Jacob. “What he meant was that he encouraged me to come since I haven’t been around for a while.”

“And why’s that?” Jake pushed, continuing to jest at you. Is this a game to you, asshole?

“Jake,” Josh snapped, tone sharp and heated.

“School,” you asserted (with a partial lie), shutting your eyes when you started seeing two of him. When you opened them to stare back at him, you focused hard as you continued to see four brown eyes instead of two. “But that’s not really any of your business is it, Jake?”

He was silent, his jaw clenching. Then he looked back to Maya, starting a conversation with her, effectively shutting you out.

You weren’t sure how long you could put up with the hot and cold act from him. You knew that he was hurt, but you preferred the moments in recent times where he’d shown the soft side of his heart. The Jake side of his heart.

The one flashing through your mind at this moment was on the night of the Halloween party. When he’d picked up the dropped brownies for you and then offered to help you carry stuff to your room. . . albeit he had been drunk. It’d still been him. You knew it. It was something he’d do. . . you knew him.

And you knew him well enough to know when he was acting like an ass, it meant he was hurt. You weren’t oblivious to the recent hurt you’d inflicted on him. . . but why was he suddenly reacting like this again? Why now?

When another wave of dizziness took you over, you had to once again shut your eyes to keep your balance, and you held tight to the strap of your bag. Your head was also, once again, pulsing.

You opened your eyes and tried to stay steady, as you didn’t want to worry the three who cared. Pulling your phone from the pocket of your oversized hoodie, you shook your keys at the guys who still watched with concerned eyes.

“Be safe,” Danny offered sympathetically, reaching a hand out. You grasped it, rubbing your thumb over the back.

As soon as he let go, Sam was up and pulling you into a hug. Once he’d succeeded in killing your boobs again, he held onto your shoulders. “We miss you,” he said, breath thick with alcohol that was making your stomach turn. You held your breath and tapped at his hand politely before scooting back from him. “Love you, y/n.”

You repeated the phrase back to him before Josh got up, presumably to walk you to the door. “I promise I’ll start coming around more often again,” you told them. “I miss you, too.”

And just before you stepped to head toward the exit, you found Jake’s eyes again.

They were softer now, showing concern he couldn’t hide at your current state. But there was still that fire behind them that you’d learned was purely Jake. And it made your heart thump a little harder in your chest.

-🌼🌼🌼-

The tiredness was unreal. You honestly couldn’t remember the last time you were so fucking exhausted. Everything that had been happening recently–the therapy, telling Josh that you were pregnant with his twin’s baby, being pregnant with said baby (and worrying that you weren’t), taking sixteen-fucking-hours of classes. . . it had been a lot. That much was obvious as hell.

And tonight had been emotionally taxing for sure. . . and knowing you, you knew it was more than extremely possible that the emotions alone had been what’d finally done you in. Drained you for all you were worth.

Well, that, and the lack of food in your system. And the persistent barfing.

You'd been poring over the resources that Dr. Rose had given you access to. And, one of the links on their site had informed you that it was extremely possible for the fatigue to peak around this point of the pregnancy–ten to twelve weeks.

And considering you were right about at 12 or so, it was on the mark.

But when you’d read that, you hadn’t been expecting the feeling to be similar to that of being weighed down to the Earth by heavy-ass lead. You were dying to fall into bed and sleep off the exhaustion–right after taking a measly Tylenol for the pounding headache that’d been burgeoning for the past several minutes.

All you could do at this specific moment, though, was focus on driving–and pulling into the apartment complex with as much precision as possible. The pain in your head was beginning to make your vision blurry and the things around you waved in ways you knew they weren’t supposed to. Goddamn.

You finally made it to your parking space–by the grace of some higher entity. But, as soon as you tried to move to get out, everything around you began to spin at an accelerated speed. Moaning, you brought two shaking hands up to your eyes as you closed them. You started to count to ten, trying your best to take deep breaths–but even that was getting hard to do. Fuck.

Finding your motherfucking bearings was proving to be a task and a half.

And your head was just fucking throbbing relentlessly.

“Dammit,” you groaned again, the words slurring just a bit.

Somehow, though, you were able to make the trek from your car to the complex’s staircase–so close, yet so far, from your place. But you could feel the way your heart was thrumming quickly in your chest—just pounding against your ribcage from the basic action of walking.

Everything began waving around you again. You felt like you were floating and your head was becoming lighter and lighter by the second; the only reminder that it housed a brain was the raging, convulsing feeling in your skull.

Your vision was incredibly blurry at best, as you looked from the base of the stairs, all the way up to the top. The top of the stairs was hardly visible.

Shit. How the fuck am I going to climb these steps like this?

But, you weren’t able to contemplate it for much longer before everything started fading more and more, until you felt yourself falling and all you saw was a black abyss.

-🌼🌼🌼-

The hand you felt holding yours was the only thing that weighed you down to the white room. The other things that you immediately noticed: the sound of steady beeping (which was incessant) and the smell of antiseptic and bleach wafting from the bedding.

The bed itself felt reminiscent of high quality cardboard, but the sheets were warmer than you would’ve expected.

Letting your body relax back into the warm, polycotton sheets, you began to drift back to wherever you’d been. But you felt something hold you to the present. It was the someone with the hand who was helping to keep you conscious. The thumb that swept purposefully across the back of your hand tied you to the real world before you could escape to the one behind your eyelids.

Then you felt the hand holding yours squeeze the slightest bit tighter. Your lids were heavy when you squinted them open–immediately hating the way the fluorescent lighting assaulted your irises. You didn’t know if it was possible, but you were damned sure you could feel your pupils adjusting to the overbearing beams from the bulbs.

Moaning, you reached your free hand up to cover your eyes. And when you did, you noticed the influx of tubes, taped to and sticking out of your hand. Specifically, the needle connected directly to your vein. What the fuck was going on?

Amidst your confusion, you finally processed who the hand was connected to as you heard his voice.

“Yes, yes,” Josh said in response to something. You noticed that he was seeming to squeeze your hand in little pulsing intervals. When you squeezed back to indicate you were awake, his eyes were immediately on you, abandoning his conversation. “Y/n? Oh, fuck,” his voice was thick with emotion. His gaze became wet as he checked your face over. “I was so worried about you.”

You didn’t know what to say, since you weren’t really sure why you were here or what had happened to get you here. . . All you could remember was being tired and dizzy with a pounding in your head.

You tried to speak, but it was in vain, as your throat was dry as fuck. All that came from your lips was a measly croak. But, thankfully, Josh was immediately coming to your rescue with one of the hospital’s giant plastic cups, filled to the brim with water. He held the straw to your lips and you sat up a little to have better leverage to take a drink. To your surprise, the pounding in your head was gone, and there was no dizziness accompanying your movements.

And no nausea – best part of all.

As soon as the water slipped past your lips, you shut your eyes in utter relief. Water had never tasted so good. You weren’t sure if water even had a taste, but at that moment, you swore it did and that it tasted like liquid gold would.

Once you’d had enough for the moment, almost draining the large cup, you backed away and leaned into the pillows that awaited behind you.

Sighing in relief, you tried to say words again. And this time, it worked. “What’s going on?” You slowly spoke, your head still feeling slightly airy. You let your eyes trail to Josh’s, questioning him. “Why am I here?”

Then, you started panicking. You shot up from where you’d settled against the pillows, clutching your stomach. The IV’s connected to your hand pulled at your skin, stinging. You ignored the pain though, and felt your tummy. It was still round, but obviously that didn’t mean– oh no. Your deepest fears came to life in your head, piece by terrifying piece. The baby.

“Oh, fuck, Josh,” you said, your eyes were wild and immediately drew wetness, which ran steadily down your cheeks. No no no no no. “The baby? Is the baby–? Oh–.”

“Yes, yes,” Josh shushed you, running his free hand over the top of your head. “The baby is fine. Already checked and looks the same as it did a few days ago,” his eyes shone with reassurance. “Nothing is wrong with the baby.”

“Heartbeat?”

“Steady as can be.”

You felt your lungs fill with air again. “Okay,” you breathed out, leaning back into the pillows once more. “Okay.”

“But you on the other hand,” he started, his brow raising and eyes burning into yours. “You need to be giving yourself proper attention, mama.”

“I—?” You shook your head. You knew you weren’t the most attentive to yourself, but you’d tried very hard to be more self-serving recently in some regards. Longer showers, Friends, Cosmic Brownies (RIP) and pickles, therapy (if that counted). . . “I’ve been trying. . .”

But the vomiting is proving some of that to be impossible, Joshua, you thought silently, snidely.

“What your friend is trying to tell you,” the doctor began. Your eyes shifted to her, an older woman with delicate features whose gray hair was pushed back by a pair of readers. Then her brows wrinkled. “Well—friend? Father of the baby?”

You both spoke at the same time.

“Oh, no—.”

“Not me,” Josh corrected with a laugh, his smile bright and humored underneath his new mustache. “That’s my brother’s baby in there.”

Ridiculously, you began to blush at hearing Josh say it out loud. You were learning that any time it came from his lips, it made your breath catch in your chest just a little.

Jake’s baby.

“Oh, my apologies,” she smiled, her crows feet wrinkling, voice wise with years of experience. “I just wanted to proceed using the correct title to address you. Speaking of which, I am Dr. Stevens. It’s nice to meet you, Miss y/n.”

“Same to you,” you answered with a tiny, unsure smile and nod. “Thank you.”

Dr. Stevens hummed, then came to sit on the end of the bed, same side as Josh. You eyed her curiously as her expression turned a touch more serious. “Miss y/n,” she said, sounding like you’d imagine a caring mother would. “You are here because your iron was frighteningly low,” she said, concerned and checking your chart. “If it had gone untreated one more night, you would have been incredibly ill and unable to function properly at all come morning.”

“What?” You asked, shocked. Anemia wasn’t a new thing to you, you’d always had it. How had it intensified so quickly? “I mean, sure, I’ve always had mild anemia. Just kind of a thing that’s been there . . .haven’t thought about it in years, actually,” (because of some damn triggering, buried memories attached to it). “But I’ve never had – it’s never been as. . . Intense as this,” you held up your hand that was covered in tape and inserted tubes.

“Well, honey, you’re carrying a baby now who also needs those vital nutrients to help it develop,” she counseled. “And proper hydration,” she reminded. You nodded, eyes zoned in on your hands, full with pieces of plastic and tape, and not her face. When Dr. Stevens spoke next, her voice was the most stern it’d been so far. “And prenatal vitamins– those are essential for you and the baby.”

Your eyes flicked up to hers. The way she pierced you with her stare made you lean back like a scolded puppy. Your tail would have been between your legs if you had one.

Why hadn’t you bought any damned prenatals yet? Fuck all.

“Yes ma’am. I don’t know why I haven’t been taking–,” you tried, huffing. You were ashamed of yourself. “God, I feel bad,” you placed two hands on your tummy and looked down at it through the hospital gown you’d been changed into. “How has all of it not harmed the baby?”

“Well, again, tomorrow would have been a completely different story had you not been rushed in tonight,” she reminded, talking you through it slowly. “But we’ve got fluids pumping through you to get you back to normal.” She motioned to Josh, you looked at him with a small smile that he reciprocated. “And your friend has promised to take you for a prenatal run tomorrow morning. To find the ones that you feel might suit you best.” Dr. Stevens smiled, looking over at your bedside table. Your eyes followed, seeing the small medicine bottle sitting there, waiting for you. “For now, I have a couple ready to send home with you,” she assured.

“I’ve never been the best at prioritizing my health,” you mumbled, messing with a loose thread on the hospital gown. Josh held the hand that was anxiously picking at the material, making you stop. You looked over to see his kind, encouraging eyes. “I have ingrained my brain with several unhealthy, learned habits,” you admitted, finally looking at Dr. Stevens again. “So I guess this was a reality check of sorts. That it’s not just me anymore. I can’t just ignore what I need to acknowledge.”

You didn’t know what was inspiring the constant flow of transparently deep emotions to all of these unknown people in your life, but you weren’t totally opposed to it anymore.

Dr. Stevens’ face contorted to show that she had sympathy. You were relieved. But when she spoke next, her voice was firm. “You’re right. This baby is forcing you to take care of yourself so he or she can survive and come out healthy and happy. I believe this baby is teaching you some proper life skills. But you need to be eating well to help this child have a good, healthy time in the womb. . .help him or her thrive at this vital stage in its life.”

God. She was right. You had seen the words Failure to Thrive on multiple sources you’d checked out about pregnancy. . . .always just skimmed past them, as it didn’t seem to pertain to you. But, of course it did. The vomiting. Not taking prenatals (seriously, what the fuck, y/n?). The lack of eating anything (save for the baby pickles). . .

You’d been so in your head about the present state of your health that you hadn’t taken nearly enough time to consider the baby.

“I’ve just never been bad about eating. This is new,” you confided. “And it’s just gotten worse this past week or so. . . I haven’t been able to eat. Everything has made me want to vomit.” Then you decided to add, “Well, everything besides pickles. They’ve been my only source of any nutrients – which I know is pathetic, by the way – I just–just can’t even be in the same room as most food, much less eat it.”

“You’re experiencing a severe case of hyperemesis gravidarum, which is just a fancy way of saying that you’re excessively vomiting during your pregnancy. It’s due to a drastic change in hormones. Your HCG levels are through the roof, where they’re usually not. Most women just have to suffer through it,” she said in response, handing you sheet with the fancy medical term at the top. “That is an information sheet. Keeps you informed on the ins and outs of why you might be experiencing it.” She sighed before going on. “It will pass, honey. Give it a few more weeks and you should be over the worst of it – if not before. But being anemic makes it that much worse,” she explained, flipping her readers over her eyes and looking through the papers on her fancy clipboard. “You’ve just gotta stay on top of those preexisting conditions.”

“And not taking the prenatals. . .,” she scolded, making you look up from scanning the sheet. She gave you a look. “Is what has you in this condition. You should also be taking an additional iron supplement. I’m. . . sure you didn’t tell your OB about your previous anemia?” She wondered aloud.

“No,” you murmured. “I really haven’t seen it present itself since I was really young. And it wasn’t really severe. . . at least I don’t think,” you rubbed your forehead, suddenly experiencing several sad moments in time. From a long time ago. So, once again, you bared your heart and explained. “There are things from my childhood that I’ve forgotten. And even though I do actually know I experienced bouts of it during that time, I haven’t ever really acknowledged it because I just kind of forced myself to forget about it.”

Really, for some godforsaken reason, thinking about your anemia only brought back very unwelcome flashes of your mother’s house. . . and other dirty places you didn’t want to think about. Hence why you’d blocked it out.

Josh squeezed your hand– tried to bring you back.

Thankfully, Dr. Stevens continued before the thoughts could take over. “I am sorry, honey,” she said, empathetic. But, she continued on professionally. “The hard truth is that some of the things that have always sort of laid dormant can come back with a raging force during pregnancy. . . simply considering that the pregnancy is essentially a revamp on your body,” she paused when you chuckled at the word ‘revamp’. Yeah, right. She smirked at it, too. “I know, funny word choice. Doesn’t always feel like you’re revamping,” she flipped to the next page in her chart. “What I mean is, things can come back up and be bigger–stronger–than before. One more thing that is changing and increasing in your body. Medical conditions from the past may come back and get more ‘intense’,” she winked at you, using your word from earlier. “But, it’s important: now that the anemia has shown itself again – so aggressively – at a time that your body is already very vulnerable. . .” She sighed, flipping her readers back into her dark gray hair before unclipping a paper from the chart and handing it to you. “It’s time we get a handle on all of it before it possibly shows its ugly face again.”

The sheet she handed you included several foods that you could eat to remedy the morning sickness. Some of which had made you feel like puking – or actually puke. But, there were a few things you didn’t have at home. Boring, bland foods. Things you just never bought. A few fruits and vegetables. . .

And a shit ton of vitamins.

“A lot of plain Jane stuff on there, I know. And vitamins, vitamins, vitamins,” she acknowledged. “But those supplements and bland diet are what will see you through the dark ages of this morning sickness. We need to treat that first. And then, you should be able to ease yourself into other foods and get your iron levels healthy again for you and your baby. Please focus on following that guide of foods and vitamins and just call my extension – which I attached to the top of that sheet – if you have any issues.”

She then passed one more sheet over to you and added one more piece of information. “This sheet will include the Hemoglobin Kit I’ve ordered for you and it will be sent to the address your friend provided for us within the next few days. Please be using it to check your hemoglobin levels. Hemoglobin is the main component of red blood cells–a protein– that we need to see at normal levels. I’ve included where your levels should be on that sheet. They should never be too low or too high. Please read the information on the sheet and in the kit to answer any additional questions you may have. This will help you to track of how your levels are doing and if your anemia is spiking again,” she said, her voice seeming to drone on and on in your ears. “And again, call if you have any questions or concerns.”

As you continued reading through the paper, she unclipped another and handed it over to you.

You really were thankful for the documents, really, but dear god there were a lot of them. Virtually and physically. From your OB visit and tonight. It was overwhelming . . . made your skin feel tight and overheated.

It was also a lot of information for you to over-fucking-think.

I’ll have to take them to Gia. She’ll help me sort through them, you reassured yourself, taking a deep breath in and out to calm the nerves.

“And the morning sickness should. . . pass sooner rather than later?” Josh’s question broke through your reverie. Your eyes shut to refocus on the present moment and not the papers.

“It should, yes. For most women, it does,” the graying doctor confirmed. “You’re. . .how far along? I’d estimate about eleven, maybe twelve weeks?”

“Yes,” you nodded. “Twelve weeks according to my OB.”

“Yep. You should only have a few weeks – or less – left. Just try the foods on that sheet. The vitamins. Stay hydrated. There are several recommended supplements the sheet provides. You can find most all of them on Amazon.”

You handed the sheets over to Josh, needing them away from you for the time being. You needed to be in the now. Needed to focus on anything else the aging, wise doctor may need to say.

To put it plainly, tonight’s event landing you in the hospital had you scared shitless. And learning as much as possible from her would hopefully wind up putting your mind at ease. . . though, at this moment, it just had your heart rate increasing rather quickly.

She eyed the monitor next to your bed, moving closer to it as she observed something. “There goes that heart rate again,” she squinted at the vitals once more before pushing her glasses into her hair. She looked down at her chart, her lips pursing and readers going back on as she checked it over. “That’s another thing I want to address,” she hummed, sitting next to your legs, facing you and Josh from her seat. “Have you been under a lot of stress lately? A major change? Besides the baby? Mentally, perhaps? Emotionally?” She questioned. “Because while your iron levels were scarily low, your heart rate was also dramatically high. Which, yes, is related to the iron levels. . . but, I thought I’d go ahead and check as more often than not, it can pertain to an extreme amount of stress your heart is under from other sources.”

You stuttered out a response that involved you beginning therapy for the first time in years. You tried to touch on how you were experiencing a lot of emotions around what you would eventually be talking about in therapy. . . how you’d already bared your heart to Gia and opened up every single gate possible to effectively begin therapy.

“I wanted to do it. Still do," you explained, needing Dr. Stevens to know that. “I would do it all over again right now if I needed to. She’s already helped me so much – after only one session, just with me basically projectile vomiting my past and emotions all over the room.” You took a breath, before finishing. “It doesn’t make it any less difficult though. It hurts. Physically, it hurts to talk about it all. I know it will all come together in the end. I trust the process–I trust my therapist. But it was extremely taxing – on top of everything else I’m feeling right now.” You glanced over at Josh before adding, “The baby’s father is. . . he’s just. . .”

“A lot,” Josh finished with a half-chuckle. “He’s a very good guy. He’s just a lot.”

“I have a lot of feelings about everything happening in my life right now, I’ll just say that,” you ventured to tell her. “And I had somewhat of a handle on my anxiety and depression before I got pregnant, but it’s also been something to resurface in a brand new way with the pregnancy hormones. Without me even knowing it sometimes. And before I know it, my heart is actually hurting my chest from the amount of pressure I’m putting myself under.”

Josh scooted his chair over closer to you and wrapped one of your hands in two of his, holding on tightly.

“It hasn’t all really clicked until now. . . that all of it might be related to my. . . issues,” you confirmed aloud, peeking over at Josh just briefly before looking back to Dr. Stevens. You’d just spilled your entire heart and it was making you feel extremely uneasy. God, she hadn’t asked to hear all of that. “I’m so sorry about spilling all of whatever that was,” you waved your hands around before combing them through your hair, trying to breathe deep breaths. You found her eyes, which you now realized were green. “I really–god, fuck. I’m– that was a lot for you to hear and you didn’t ask for the whole–.”

“I needed to hear it all,” she consoled you, tapping a comforting hand on the top bed sheet, rather than your leg. “It helps me assess the situation. . . and from what I’ve heard, it sounds like the most probable cause of you fainting tonight was due to the iron deficiency and your heart.” She assessed the numbers on the blinking monitor yet again. “It just hasn’t slowed much since you’ve been here, sweetie. Even with the medications we’ve given you to temporarily alleviate it, it’s still been sitting at around 120 beats per minute. And since you’ve been awake, it’s spiked enough to cause some concern to this doctor.”

As she expressed her concern again for your thrumming heart, (which you had noticed an increase in it’s pounding as of late) it began beating a little harder once again, causing an unpleasant tightness within your sternum. You winced.

Josh noted the change almost as quickly as you did. His hands that held onto yours began squeezing even tighter, the skin of his palms now wet and clammy. He brought your hand, wrapped in his, up to his chin. The hair on his chin was unfamiliar to the last time you’d touched his face (who even knew when you last did that), but it still felt familiar enough against your knuckles to calm some of your nerves.

You couldn’t help but look at him with wide, fearful eyes. His eyes were steady on you, his attention only breaking from you to look at Dr. Stevens with a nonverbal note of worry for you.

She stood from the bed and came to stand beside you, inserting the buds to the stethoscope around her neck, and held the circular part to your back. “Cough for me, sweetie,” she told you, her calm demeanor forcing you to come back from your momentary freak out. “Make it a big one.”

You found it to be an odd request, but you weren’t in any place to question this doctor who had shown you nothing but kindness. And offered help when you, apparently, so desperately needed it.

You did as she said, and forced the best cough you could muster. It instantly relieved the tension in your chest, even lowered your heart rate a bit as you watched the blinking numbers begin to drop on the screen.

“Wh-what was that? Am I having a heart attack?” You felt silly asking her that. . .but you didn’t know any better, it may as well have been your body plummeting straight into a cardiac arrest.

This was all a lot, and now you were very hyper aware of every little change in your heart that you felt, saw, or heard from the screen.

She chuckled softly, taking the stethoscope away from her ears, hanging once again around her neck. She watched your vitals intently as the blood pressure cuff attached to your left arm (that you hadn’t noticed yet) began squeezing you rather uncomfortably.

“You’re not having a heart attack, my dear. Not even close,” she reassured. Although, you still felt the worry present in the pit of your tummy that you were unknowingly clutching again. “I am no stranger to the intense effects of anxiety. I’ve seen it time and time again. I think that was a big part of the palpitation episode you experienced a few minutes ago and the persistent increase in your heart rate I've seen so far tonight. However, I would like to conduct a little further testing. Just want to be sure your heart is nice and strong – for you and for the baby.”

You felt the air from Josh’s lungs release against your knuckles as he let out the breath he must’ve been holding, squeezing your hand just as tight as before. As terrified as you were, his presence provided the safety net your spirit needed to not be thrown back in a massive panic attack.

She sat down on the bed next to you once again, her kind eyes offering little comfort right now as you start to feel overwhelmed with the sudden discovery of so many things that were apparently wrong with your body.

“If you can remember, have you ever been rather sensitive to the heat? Maybe suffered from heat strokes during your youth?”

Her question had your mind yet again returning to your past that had been kept securely behind a locked door with no key. A place you didn’t venture often.

But it did bring forth some hazy recollections of your days as a child, playing outside in the thick, dry summer heat. How you couldn’t stand to be out in it for very long without feeling. . . faint. And dizzy. So fucking dizzy.

A long since forgotten trait of yours that you never thought to pay any mind to.

“Um– yeah, actually. Now that I think about it, Summers were always a challenge. I couldn’t stand being outside for much longer than a few minutes some days without feeling like I could pass out or throw up,” you huffed a humorless laugh at the memories playing back in your head. Miserable times. “It was. . .fucking awful.”

You’d suddenly started to remember all the times you felt faint as a child. But it wasn’t always from the rise in temperature. Sometimes, it was from the stresses your mom tossed your way, the fights, the troubles that brewed in your home. It became more and more clear that fainting was most definitely not new to you. You just couldn’t remember.

“Okay,” Dr. Stevens continued, her hand now patting your shin as she seemed to pick up on the unease of remembering your past. “What about when you go to stand up after a period of being seated or lying down, does your vision become a bit obscured at times? Like you’re seeing stars? Tunneled vision, maybe?”

“I mean, y-yeah,” you stuttered. “Sometimes. But it doesn't last for very long. Doesn’t everybody experience that, though?”

You had no clue where she was going with all of these questions— questions that she seemingly already knew the answers to. Of what it all meant, you weren’t sure. But you knew you needed her to cut to the chase soon before you began plummeting even further down the anxious path you’d started paving.

“What does it mean? Is this something I should be worried about?” You asked through newly developed tears you had no control over.

Your mind was running rampant with only one singular thought: the baby. What does this mean for the baby?

“You don’t need to worry, sweetie. This is actually a lot more common than you think.”

She stood up from the bed, unclipping one more piece of paper from the board she’d been holding prior to sitting down. She handed it over to you, the paper weighing your hand down with what you were to find on it.

But before you could begin to worry about what was on it, she was explaining it to you.

“That sheet is going to inform you on the ins and outs of Postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome, most commonly referred to as POTs,” she seriously informed, her eyebrows dipping to show concern for your worries that you knew were painted all over your face.

“That’s a funny name,” Josh giggled, the breath from the laugh he’d let out fanned against your knuckles. “Like pots and pans. . . you know?”

You wanted to slap him because, shut the fuck up, Josh, now is not the time, but. . . try as you might, it actually calmed you down a bit. You couldn’t help the tiny ghost of a grin that floated over your lips.

Dr. Stevens glared at him, causing him to stop his little joke, before she continued on. “POTs,” she enunciated the name while flashing her eyes to Josh, “is nothing to be concerned with, but it is a valid heart condition that does require a bit more testing to confirm if it’s present or not. Just to be safe.”

You peered down at the sheet in front of you and the bolded print that you tried so fucking hard to not be too overwhelmed by. It wasn’t the worst possible condition, but it was still a fucking heart condition that you could possibly have. And with everything else that’d happened tonight and your current life predicament. . . it was causing your head to spin.

Postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome (POTS) is a condition that causes a number of symptoms when you transition from lying down to standing up, such as a fast heart rate, dizziness and fatigue. While there’s no cure, several treatments and lifestyle changes can help manage the symptoms of POTS.

As you read the small print across the page, she told you exactly what it was she suspected you had. “To put it plainly, your heart can’t pump blood quickly enough to your body, resulting in a higher heart rate and a lower blood pressure that can sometimes cause you to faint.” She came close to your bedside again, “If you don’t mind, I am going to need to listen to your heart again.”

It took you a bit to come to, but when you did, you finally nodded in response. She placed the cold end of the stethoscope against your chest while securing the buds in her ears to listen to you.

“This, combined with your lack of eating that caused the extremely low iron levels could have developed from your pregnancy. Although, I’m willing to bet they’ve been present your entire life. Certain instances can trigger them. Stress, severe anxiety, or pregnancy. In your case, dear, I’d say it’s all of the above. A bit of a trifecta, you could say. The ingredients for the perfect, terrifying storm.”

“Jesus, mama," Josh breathed, his lips faintly brushed over your knuckles as he continued to hold your hand close to his face. “You have got to start taking care of yourself. I can’t stand to see you like this.”

You knew that. God, you knew that. It had always been easier said than done. But it was no longer all about you anymore; the moment the life began growing within you, it gave you a newfound motivation to take care of yourself for the little life you were now responsible for.

“What other testing needs to be done?” You asked. You were hesitant of what her answer would be, but if it provided a step in the right direction towards becoming the healthiest version of yourself that you could possibly be, you were all ears.

“There’s a specific test, a tilt table test, that must be done to provide us with a little more insight to the specifics of your case. However, it’s not safe to perform it while you're pregnant,” she explained. “So for now, I’m just going to send in for a heart monitor that will be delivered to your house in the next week or so. You’ll wear it for four weeks and that'll give us plenty of information in the meantime. I’m also going to refer you to one of the best cardiologists we have on staff here.”

A heart monitor? That sounded utterly terrifying to you.

“I am also going to insist that you keep track of your hemoglobin levels daily,” she continued. “You can also buy your own blood pressure cuff to partner with the hemoglobin kit we have set to deliver at your doorstep. You should be able to apply your insurance to the purchase of the blood pressure cuff, if you decide to include that step as well,” Stevens took a deep breath before going on. “Keep a daily journal to log your numbers. Just a notebook to track your blood pressure and hemoglobin levels. It’s vital that you do these things, y/n. Fainting like this can not be a normal occurrence. It’s not good for you or the baby.” When she spoke next, you felt your heart leap into your throat. “The lasting effects on you or the fetus could be life threatening if you’re not careful. . . could be terribly detrimental to the baby’s development—specifically his or her little body or brain development.”

Life threatening. Detrimental. Baby’s development. Little body or brain development.

You heard your heart rate go up on the monitor, but you weren’t about to freak yourself out any further by looking at the changing numbers. You literally felt your pulse quicken and your breath become shallow in your throat as you struggled to take full breaths.

Focus on the now. Focus on what is real. What is right now. Baby is not in trouble yet.

You have time.

You brought a thumb and middle finger up to your temple, rubbing away furiously to relieve the oncoming headache that had been simmering at the surface for the past several minutes. Your other hand found its home on your swollen belly.

It was all so overwhelming–staggering, really, and you weren’t prepared for any of it in the slightest.

But, then again, how would someone prepare? You felt as if you were living in a brand new body, much different from the one you’d lived your whole life in up to this point. There was so fucking much out of your control and unknown. It was all pushing down, heavily, on your already-tense shoulders.

“Relax, mama,” Josh sensed your tension, and knowing you as well as he did, he knew it was time to start helping you articulate the right questions. He brushed his thumb across the back of your hand as he calmly asked, “What do we need to do if her numbers aren’t. . . normal? What are some measures we can take to get them to where they need to be?”

The fact that he was willing to stand alongside you during this whole thing, that he wanted to, it was such a comforting thing to know at this moment. Not that you had any doubt in your mind, but hearing him say something as simple as ‘we’. . . it just warmed your heart completely.

“Lots of fluids,” she answered through a sincere smile. “And an increase in your salt intake to help your body maintain those fluids.” She handed you yet another sheet and sat back down next to you, looking you in the eye with a stern, motherly expression. “That should help you out with foods to eat and fluids to drink, in addition to the sheet from earlier. But, honey, you need to change your diet. It’s essential that you incorporate healthy eating habits at this point in your pregnancy. After you’ve gotten your body accustomed to the bland foods on the other list I’ve supplied you, you need to start adding lots of iron heavy foods to your meals. Meats, leafy greens, rice. . . things of that nature.” She searched your eyes, hers kind and knowledgeable from years in the field. “Alright?”

You nodded your head in confirmation, wondering how the hell you were going to make that happen with the way normal food left you utterly disgusted at the present time.

“We’ll make sure of that, doc,” Josh responded in your place, throwing a wink at you as he knew damn well how horrible your food aversions had been.

“M-my therapy,” you found your voice. “It’s going to be intense. It will cause my body stress.” Dr. Stevens looked at you quizzically before you went on, “It’s called EMDR therapy. Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing; although, I’m sure you’ve heard of it in your profession. I don’t know all of the logistics yet, but I know it’s not a conventional form of therapy. What do I do if I wish to continue that? Should I continue it?”

“It should be safe, as long as you make sure to have a thorough discussion with your therapist after each session. That is dire in helping your body and your mind process it all in a healthy manner. In order to have a healthy body, you must also take care of your mind, especially in those circumstances. I do want you to consult with your therapist over how much stress you’ll be able to handle at any given time. Don’t let your mind go too far. If you have a good therapist, they’ll know the signs if you’ve had enough, though, don’t be afraid to tell them.”

If there was one thing you did know about all this uncertainty, it was that you could trust Gia to not lead you astray, or towards anything that would be detrimental to your mental health.

Dr. Stevens smiled, her clipboard once again tight in her grip before she stepped further to the curtained room you were shielded by. “Do you have any more questions?”

Josh glanced at you, waiting for you to say anything or waiting for you to communicate something for him to say on your behalf. You were sure you had questions, but you were just fucking flooded with stress to the point that all you wanted to do was sleep. . . just ready to get home.

Also, seeing as it was an emergency room, the idea was to get patients in and out. Wasn’t supposed to be the length of a standard visit.

You’d taken up too much of her time.

So, you shook your head at Josh and then looked to Dr. Stevens to tell her no thank you.

And when you did, you glanced down at the name on her coat and the name of the hospital stitched into the white fabric. You hadn’t even noticed. . . . Cedars-Sinai.

Same hospital I’ll have the baby at, if all goes according to plan, you suddenly realized, the thought bringing you a weird sense of peace. And it will go according to plan.

-🌼🌼🌼-

Josh went about gathering up all of the documents that had been handed to you and the prenatal pills provided as a nurse came in to disconnect all of your tubes and shit. He'd waited outside the curtain. and asked the nurse a few more questions as you'd changed back into your clothes.

And on the ride home, he’d put on peaceful music over the speaker of the car. He was used to doing it when you rode in his car as you hated riding in it. But tonight? Tonight you found comfort in the hunk of creaking metal.

Because it meant you were going home.

When you got home, Josh helped you up to the apartment and went about opening the front door and setting up your bed for you. All while you brushed your teeth, pulled up your hair that smelled like hospital, and changed into your comfiest PJs.

Just as he’d tucked you in and was about to leave, you pulled on his hand and begged for him to stay. You really didn’t want to be alone for the night, mumbling as much to him.

So, like the perfect friend he was, he set up a pallet on the floor as you tossed him a pillow from your bed.

And to your solace, sleep found you as soon as your head hit the satin of your pillowcase.

-🌼🌼🌼-

November 14, 2022

Every Monday being your therapy day was honestly the perfect way to start your week. You’d decided that on the way to the counseling practice on the chilly November afternoon of your second appointment.

You already knew it would be like it had been before. Before, (on your first and only other visit before today’s) it had just felt like a breath of fresh air to talk to a licensed professional like Gia. She was just fucking amazing. And you knew every week would be like before: a fresh start with a confidant who could give you killer fucking advice. A little date of sorts with a licensed professional who was positively eager to help you get through your week (life, generally) the best you possibly could.

Well, at least your therapist was eager to do that.

Even as you sat on her trendy, camel-colored leather couch for your second appointment, you felt completely comfortable and at ease with Gia. She had already become one of your favorite people.

You’d spent the first thirty minutes or so filling her in on telling Josh, your first prenatal exam (also showed her the sonogram pictures, which she’d loved), and the emergency visit. No details had been spared and you made sure she had time to give you any advice or words of wisdom she deemed necessary. But she’d really just let you have the floor and talk.

Once you wrapped up your scary details from the night of the E.R., handed over all of the documents you wanted to sort through with her, and talked through them until you felt more ease about all of the anemia and heart shit, she’d looked at you seriously.

Pinned you with a stare, her eyes sparkling like emeralds as she thoughtfully assessed you.

She sat down her tea, and then wheeled herself over to you. Her oversized sweater was a turtle neck that matched the color of her couch, and the too-long sleeves of it touched your hands as she grasped them loosely in her hands. “Y/n,” she began, peering at you openly through her circular, wire framed-lenses, “We do not have to do EMDR. I want to remind you, it is entirely up to you if you choose to go that route. If you are fearful of it causing too much stress, I understand wanting to venture down another therapeutic route.”

“No,” you shook your head, a small smile curled the corner of your lips to reassure her. “I want to do it. I believe it’s what will work best to get to the heart of things. Don’t you?”

“Yes,” she agreed, brow knitted. “I just don’t want you to feel any unnecessary stress during this vulnerable time in your life.”

“As long as you promise to help me wrap it all up with a good talk at the end of each appointment,” you suggested with hope evident in your tone. “To wrap it up as much as we can for me to make it through the week.”

She grinned. “I can do that,” she affirmed with one certain nod, her loose bun, full of her soft blonde hair bounced with the action. “Did the doctor recommend continuing it?”

“Yep. Said it shouldn’t be an issue if we manage to discuss it all at the end of each session,” you offered. “Doesn’t want me carrying around anything unresolved that could make my stress levels increase.”

“Well, that’s definitely doable,” she confirmed with a wide grin. Scooting back, she grabbed her tea from the repurposed desk in the corner of her office before propping her ankle on top of her bent knee. “So, if you do wish to continue with EMDR, I’ll go ahead and explain it a little better than I have yet.”

“I do,” you said as a final agreement. “What should I know before we start?”

So, Gia proposed EMDR and all of the benefits that could come from the specific form of therapy. You listened to every detail readily. Were you scared? Yes. Were you anxious to begin? Also yes. It was intriguing and a little exciting to be so close to finally diving deep into the curves and corners of your mind and memories.

Once she’d finished with that, she was rolling her chair back over to you and placing her elbows on the ends of her thighs as she bent to talk intimately with you. When she spoke, the smell of spearmint on her breath was oddly calming. “There’s something I feel I should mention before we begin. A bit of a warning that you should heed. Some clients experience this, some don’t. But something to be aware of, nonetheless.”

Your eyes widened at her use of the word ‘warning,’ and her sudden change in tone made you believe this was something a little more serious. You knew there were risks involved with this somewhat unconventional form of therapy, but you hadn’t let yourself delve into all of them just yet. You had tried your best to leave the ball in Gia’s court to explain it all to you.

And you knew that anything deemed risky, Gia would let you know of them before you agreed. Any online research wouldn't be nearly as viable as it would be coming straight from Gia’s mouth.

Still yet, your heart beat just a little faster in preparation for whatever she had to tell you.

Deep breaths, y/n.

“Tell me,” you asserted. In search of some extra comfort, you placed a hand on your belly, the pulse vibrating in your palm also immediately triggered the fear in you that your heart was possibly over exerting itself.

Deep. Breaths. Gia’s got this. She won’t let you do anything too risky to your health. She wouldn’t let you.

“Some people report experiencing rather intense flashbacks that can come unannounced. And when I say intense, I truly mean just that, y/n. If they come, they can be debilitating.”

This was the first you had seen her eyes downturned, a picture of worry painted within her emerald green irises. “There have also been accounts of severe nightmares—well, more along the lines of night terrors. The kind that can wake you up in a panic. I just want you to be aware of these possibilities before we begin. I need you to promise me right now, that if these things do happen, you’ll call me. I don’t care if it’s in the middle of the night or the middle of the day, you have to call me, and I will answer.”

Middle of the day? They could come then, too? Shit.

“Is it. . . really that serious?” You took a moment to ponder your question, not entirely sure what to make of it all just yet. (And you couldn’t help but wonder if Jake found out about these little occurrences during his research before bringing the idea up to you.)

“It can be,” she noted with a stern tone that sent yet another wave of anxiety through your tense muscles. “That’s why I need you to make me that promise. That isn’t something you should ever experience alone. As I said, it can be debilitating.”

Your mind began turning furiously with the thought of having to experience flashbacks. Would they be flashbacks to things you already remembered? Or worse. . . things you didn’t? Both?

If you were being honest with yourself, you knew the answer and it was honestly terrifying to you.

For a split second, you started to doubt whether or not this was the right solution for you. But, you couldn’t deny any longer that you did need the help. You had to be better. For you and for the life that was growing inside of you. The baby needed a healed mother.

And you knew Gia was the perfect person to guide you through it. You trusted her, and that was something that has never come easily for you.

“I’ll admit,” you began, still holding tight to your belly, reminding yourself of the growing reason why you needed to do this. “I’m nervous. But I still want to do it. I promise I’ll call you when— if— that happens. . . but, what if you’re not available?”

“Don’t be nervous. You’ve got this.” She flashed you her sparkling white teeth in a smile that put your spirit right back at ease. “And I do my best to answer. It’s my job as your therapist to see you through this. Some don’t take it as seriously as I do, but I know that you’ll need me in your corner and I’m happy to be there. I signed up for this, just like you did,” she grinned, once again using her feet to scoot her back to her desk, in her plush, light pink chair. “But, on the off chance I’m not able to answer, I would immediately contact someone you trust to see you through it. Hold you. Talk to you. Just be there with you. Whatever you need. Someone who would be willing to do that.” She opened her laptop before turning to you, an idea seeming to spark in her mind. “As a matter of fact, before our next session, why don’t you make it your assignment to think of the person you’ll go to in situations like that? Just one person for now and if you think of more, then double whammy.”

She winked, and you just sent a barely-there grin back to her in response. As she went about clicking open tabs on her computer, you knew you didn’t need until next session to think of your person.

Because as soon as she started talking about that person, you were back in the hallway of your grandparents’ home – right outside your bedroom. And the person next to you right then and there. . . he was the one you wanted with you if the terrors hit.

Not Josh. Not even Elsie.

But Jake.

Would he be okay with that though? Would it be worth asking him?

Gia was once again speaking as she clicked through a few buttons on her laptop. “Y/n? You okay, love?”

You looked up, finding her eyes waiting for yours. “Oh–oh, yeah,” you stretched your lips to make the best smile you could. “Just being an overachiever and already brainstorming my person to contact.”

She hummed, giving you a sneaky smirk. “Does it happen to be a certain roommate of yours?”

Eyes bugging, you were shocked that she’d guessed. But were you really? She sorta kinda (definitely) knew the depths of your heart. She'd probably known who you’d want to pick as soon as you'd known it.

Nodding sheepishly, you decided to ask, “Is that a bad idea?”

“I don’t believe so,” she assured. “From what you’ve told me about him, he seems like a pretty good guy and I think he’d be more than willing to help you if you needed him.”

“Really?”

“Really. It’s also super convenient because he lives with you,” she insisted with a final wink before she said, “Anything I might’ve forgotten will be in the PowerPoint I’m about to send to your email. But, I’ve gotta say, I’ve done it enough times with enough clients, I think I’ve covered every base for today.” A few beats of silence passed before she triumphantly pressed a button. “Aaand, sent!”

Then, wheeling back over to you, her pristinely white Nikes made the smallest squeak on the stained concrete floor of her office. “Okay, so today,” she began. “How are we feeling?”

“Really good,” you confidently responded, wiping your palms against your leggings before a true smile fit to your features. “When will we start?”

“I think next session we will find your safe place,” she said with a raise of her brow. “I will explain what I mean by ‘safe place’ next time, and directly after, we will send you there. Try not to worry about it until then, okay?” She requested, eyes searching yours for an answer. To which, you nodded. She continued with a grin. “For today, I want to call it quits with the EMDR talk. . . Let you rest. Unless. . . you have any questions, of course. . . .”

You wracked your brain, and when you couldn’t think of anything immediately, you told her you didn’t have any questions.

“Come with some next time if you think of any. And, my email is always open in between visits if needed–even if it’s just a minor inquiry you have,” she reminded. “Oh! And I’m not sure if I mentioned this yet. . . but, if we need to ever schedule an emergency visit over Zoom or in the office. . . that is also always, always on the table. I know that these things get heavy, and I want to be here for you through all of it, y/n.”

“Got it.”

Although, something did come to your mind as you were both standing to leave the session. You hadn’t given the question much thought in your own mind (shockingly). It had entered your wave of thought the day of your first prenatal appointment. When you’d asked Josh.

But since then, your mind had been too preoccupied with everything else that had recently happened that this thought had been put on the backburner.

But, you were curious what her opinion was on the matter, now that it had resurfaced.

Right before she opened the door, delicate hand on the handle, you grew sweaty. But you needed to ask the question, because if you didn’t do it now, it would be tormenting you until next Monday.

So, you asked her the same question you’d asked Josh.

“When should I tell Jake about the baby?”

She turned her shoulder, her eyes stern when she responded. “Soon. . . sooner rather than later. Just focus on what is real.”

Sooner rather than later. . . same exact words Josh had said.

-🌼🌼🌼-

It had been a long day of classes and the short shift at the Black and Gold after your classes had completely wiped you out.

When you got home, all you’d wanted to do was take a nap to sleep off the exhaustion from the short day. Before pregnancy, you wouldn’t be hitting a wall so early in the day, but now that you were, you could hardly function after going nonstop for more than a few hours.

Your body was functioning in overdrive, trying to produce enough energy to sustain two lives. . . and you were still getting used to it. Honestly, you weren’t sure you would ever get used to it.

But before your nap. . . you wanted to take some time to release some of the soreness in your changing body with a warm shower. You were sure to grab a towel from the dryer because, even though you knew Jake wasn’t supposed to be home for a few hours, you still didn’t want to risk him seeing you. The idea of him seeing any slight changes on your body made you cringe. You weren’t sure if you felt comfortable in your body yet, so you definitely didn’t want him seeing it.

There was also the enormous, glaring factor of him seeing the changes and realizing what was going on. You really still just looked bloated (albeit very, very bloated). . . but you had a feeling that he would catch on. He’d gotten very used to what your body looked like for the better part of the summer, so you could see him noticing your stomach protruding more than it ever did before.

He’d know. . . you just had a feeling.

After a day of trying to wear regular jeans, you’d decided it was a bad idea to wear your normal sized jeans anymore. The tight waistband had cut into your abdomen all day and squeezed you like a motherfucker. Thankfully, there’d been a lull in customers before the end of your shift, and the oversized sweater you’d worn had provided enough coverage for you to unbutton the jeans when you were alone in the store.

But when you finally got to take them off, you breathed a sigh of relief to be out of the confines of the stiff clothing. And the big, fluffy sweater had gotten to be too warm by the end of your shift, so taking that off had also been extremely relieving as well.

After you’d tied your hair back and heated the shower a little cooler than your usually steaming hot showers, you had to get used to the temperature as you stood and lathered up your belly, giving yourself your daily time to just observe how it was growing. Ever since your visit to the E.R., you’d become more conscientious of how it was growing.

You were new to this pregnancy thing. You didn’t know if it meant your baby was okay or not if your belly wasn’t growing at a certain rate.

To your utter relief, over the past few days, you had finally been able to eat more–following the lists of food Dr. Stevens had given you. You occasionally got nauseous, but the puking had limited significantly with the suggested bland, healthier foods and constant Ginger Ale (which you’d actually found much more delicious and helpful to your twisty stomach than Sprite).

Then there were the Preggie Pops and the heaven-sent PregEase: both of which had been fucking life savers. (Both stayed safely locked away in your room, on a shelf in your closet, right next to where you’d pinned the sonogram pictures.)

Once you’d let the quick shower relax your muscles exactly like you’d needed, you took your time drying off. And once you’d washed your face and changed into bike shorts and a giant t-shirt, you weren’t so tired as before. So, you’d settled into the couch with your phone, a book, a fluffy blanket, and a delicious bowl of sweet red peppers and pretzels.

It had become a go-to snack as of late.

You were looking forward to finishing the steamy romance that had popped up on your BookTok a few weeks back, but you wanted to look into BookTok reviews for the second book in the series before you finished the first. Just to prepare yourself.

Though, when you opened your TikTok app, you didn’t look into the book. No, instead, you found your fingers searching ‘13 weeks pregnant’. You wanted to see how other women looked at this point in the game. You couldn’t help wanting to compare your progression to other women. It wasn’t a healthy course of action – you knew that. You just had to see. . . get an idea.

You saw a lot of videos of them talking about entering their second trimester. Which, like your Ovia app had already informed you today, you knew you had officially passed the first trimester. . . which was a massive thing to you. Passing the first trimester meant several exciting things. A few being: the chances of your baby surviving the pregnancy increased tenfold; the morning sickness started screeching to a halt (thank god); and you’d be able to find out the gender of your baby in a few short weeks.

Though, the other glaring thing at the front of your brain was how you needed to tell Jake. Because of the fact that you were already in your second trimester.

The main thing you were concerned about was staying healthy, though. . . you were really hoping you were doing okay at keeping yourself healthy; you needed your baby to be healthy. All of your numbers seemed to be getting back on the right track as you’d been tracking your hemoglobin for the past few days. It was all very comforting–-you felt better.

Just as you clicked on a video about symptoms at week 13, the front door opened to show Jake coming through. You quickly shut the app off and locked your phone, pretended to be reading as sweat accumulated in your arm and knee pits. (Lovely.)

Though, you couldn’t help but turn your body to peek at him in his peacoat, with a scarf wrapped around his neck, and a beanie covering his ears. Much like he’d looked on the night of the macaroni and cheese and therapy talk.

He had a little chill in his bones, it seemed, as he shook them out when taking off his coat and scarf. His hat was next, leaving his long hair staticky in its wake. He smoothed it back with one more chill before he was off to the counter, dropping off the mail and his keys. But he didn’t immediately go to his room. He went about opening a drawer, finding a pair of scissors and heading to the mail on the counter.

You did notice a package now that you looked closer. And he was hurriedly going about cutting through the yellow protective packaging.

Out of nowhere, you decided to speak. No idea where it came from. Curiosity killed the cat was all you could come up with.

“Whatcha got there?” Whatcha got there? Okay, first of all, what the fuck?

He peered over at you, raising a brow before lifting the now-open package to display it to you. “New guitar part I ordered.”

“Oh,” you blinked, not sure what else you’d been expecting from him. Of course he wasn’t about to make pleasant conversation. Not when something had apparently climbed up his ass where you were concerned for the past several days.

Once again, you were right back at square one at the most inopportune time. It made you question your idea to make him your go-to person for your expected night terrors. . . but you didn’t want to let go of the possibility yet. Not yet.

“Have fun with that,” you offered, turning back around to the book you most definitely didn’t want to read at the present time. Instead, you took a nervous bite of a pepper.

“Um, y/n,” he said your name with a question in his tone. “What the fuck is this?”

Your heart tripped over itself in your chest. What had he found? Without looking at him, you decided to just go ahead and get your ass off the couch to survey the situation.

He was holding the box containing your heart monitor in his hands.

Fuck. You really didn’t want him to be privy to that part of your life. For whatever ridiculous reason, you were embarrassed by it.

Deciding honesty was the best policy, you decided to just flat out tell him. “I went to the Emergency Room the other night,” you started. “And the doctor just wanted –.”

“The Emergency Room?!” His voice raised a decibel, obviously alarmed at the new information. “Wait . . . is that why Josh had to leave the bar–? The same night you were gone all night.”

“Wait. . .how do you know I was gone all night?”

“I live with you, y/n,” he scoffed, talking to you like you were an idiot.

You felt your blood pressure rise, your heart beating in your ears. “Yes, Jake, I know this,” you matched his tone, the hormones working in your favor this time–making you angry rather than sad. “But why the fuck were you awake?”

“I was waiting for–,” he stopped, clearing his throat before starting over. He looked down, a crinkle in his brow. “I couldn’t sleep.”

He was waiting for. . . who? Waiting for. . . what? Your curiosity peaked, but you ignored it for the time being.

“Well, not that you need to know, but yes. I was at the E.R. that night,” you explained. “Something happened that landed me there and it resulted in them wanting to track my heart activity. Nothing huge.”

And for once, you didn’t feel bad for lying to him. Your nerves were lit on fire with irritation towards him.

He doesn’t need to know.

“You got a heart monitor in the mail,” he stated, not dropping the possible severity of the situation. "And you're saying it's nothing huge?"

Without a second thought, you were yanking the package from his hands.

“It’s. not. your. business, Jacob,” you squeezed the package until the plastic wrap squeaked from the tight grip of your fingertips. Then, something else clicked. “Why the fuck were you not looking at the name on the package? Remember, like you said, you live with me. You know that not all of the shit that comes in the mail is yours.”

“I just wasn’t thinking–.”

“Kind of fucking invasive, Jake,” you interrupted hotly. “Don’t you think?”

“Well, it helped me to know something was wrong with your heart. You wouldn’t have told me if I hadn’t opened the package,” he argued back.

“You didn’t need to know!” You said, your voice raising at the same speed as your blood pressure. “Still don’t!”

“But Josh sure as hell does, right?” He demanded, swinging his finger towards the door, his jaw clenching. “He needed to be your knight in shining fucking armor, huh?”

“Why the hell do you care?!” You fumed, the question exploding from your chest with the same emotion that had tears gathering in your eyes at the question. Angry tears. Confused tears.

“I don’t!” He snapped, his beautiful, brown eyes, hard. His jaw, set and tight.

His words sat in the air for a few minutes. Your stares were intertwined; swimming with tangled emotions. The air felt hot and heavy as it surrounded you. It was taut with newly spoken (and still unspoken) surmounting feelings and disequilibrium. Nostrils were flaring. Both of your chests heaved, the sound of his breathing mixed with yours in a way that made you want to slap and kiss his pursed lips.

You didn’t let yourself stand there much longer – needed to get away from him. Without speaking to him, you tore your eyes from his, gathered up your stuff from the couch, and tried to walk with as much dignity as you could to your room.

Somehow, you were able to get the door open with your hands inexplicably full, and after you’d entered and before you could shut it behind you, you shot a glare his way. He was still watching you.

“Fuck you, Jake.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

November 17, 2022

The next night saw your ass in the shower again.

Except this time, you were sitting in the tub, legs drawn to your chest as close as possible with your rounder tummy, and chin on your knees as you let the warm water soak you through.

You’d already shaved and washed everything. So, now, you were just letting yourself be.

Your thoughts had been spinning since last night. So, in an effort to help your heart, you’d invited Josh over for a movie when Jake left to give lessons for the day. And, of course, he’d said yes without question.

You’d spent the day drowning yourself in popcorn and Canada Dry (Josh surprised you with a new 12-pack when he’d arrived) as you’d watched all three Bridget Jones movies. Back to back to back. They weren’t Josh’s favorites, but he humored you by trying to indulge in the trilogy – even managing to laugh at the funny parts.

Between movies, he’d let you cry on his shoulder. Or, intermittently, during the movies. . . By the time he’d left, your tears had positively stained the white long sleeve tee he was wearing.

He didn’t ever ask what it was about – who it was about. And you never told him. But you knew he wasn’t oblivious to who caused your emotional episode.

Now he was gone. Had been for about an hour. And Jake wasn’t home yet. Not that you fucking cared.

You’d meant it when you told him what you did. Fuck him.

Though, the devastating matter was that you couldn’t decide if you were more mad at yourself or him. Everyday was a replay of the day in the kitchen. And you were sure he replayed it everyday, too. . . and he was definitely allowed to feel hurt after the horrendous shit you’d thrown at him.

But what was with the back and forth? Hot and cold? How he’d been okay the night with the mac and cheese? How he’d spent his time researching therapy for you to try? How he��d been quick to defend your song to his girlfriend?

And, just as quickly, he was snapping at you. Getting upset out of nowhere. Instantly angry with you when you’d come out of the bathroom at the bar. Getting pissed for no reason at you and Josh for sitting in the car. Telling you last night that he didn’t care about you.

Was that true? Did he not? It fucking killed you if it was true. But you couldn’t blame him if he didn’t care. Why would he?

You took the moment to stretch your legs out in the shower, watching as the water painted your skin with droplet after droplet. Then, you looked down at your tummy, extra round after a day of pigging out.

Placing a pruned hand on it, you looked down at the part of your body that housed your human. Surprisingly (not), tears clouded your voice as you spoke to it, rubbing the skin reassuringly. “I’m so sorry that your mommy and daddy are so fucked up.”

After letting a few tears fall to meet the tight, rounded skin of your tummy, you forced your legs to stand up. The feat was proven a little difficult as they’d fallen asleep, but you still managed. Regretfully, you’d turned the water off. You didn’t want to leave the shower but you were officially prune-y as hell.

And, as you gathered a towel to wrap up in, you realized you were also very fucking tired.

You carefully attached the heart monitor’s adhesive to your chest like the instruction manual (and multiple videos you’d watched) told you to, and followed it with the monitor itself. You then checked to make sure the phone you’d been given with the kit was ready to track what it needed.

Finding your phone on the counter after you’d washed your face and brushed your teeth, you decided Josh deserved a thank you after putting up with you the last several days.

Especially after you’d just rocked his motherfucking world . . . and he’d been so cool about it.

God, you just loved him.

You, 10:17 p.m.: I’m so glad I have you. I mean it from the bottom of my heart that I wouldn’t make it through this pregnancy without you. And your love and amazing fucking support. I’d be lost without you.

And after you sent it, you began towel drying your hair, then brushed through any tangles the best you could.

When you heard a ding! sound from the living room, you spent a few minutes thinking it was your imagination. But when you heard it a second time, you realized it was most likely not in your head, and that Jake was home.

So, checking your appearance once more, you wrapped the towel as tight as you could around your body before shutting the light off and opening the door.

You glanced up to see if he was in fact home, and the sight that met you had you stop in your tracks.

Josh’s white phone case with the little triangle symbol he’d drawn on it one day at the B&G.

In Jake’s hands.

Jake’s face, looking at the screen of said phone, mouth open in shock.

And as soon as you closed the door to the bathroom, the smallest sound of it shutting, made his eyes slowly slide up from the phone to your face.

He held the phone up, showing you just what he’d seen. Fuck.

“You’re pregnant?”

You took a careful step forward, the blood in your veins frazzled and vibrating. Deny deny deny. As long as you can, y/n. “What gives you the right to be in Josh’s phone? Your invasiveness really knows no fucking bounds these days,” you clipped, voice shaking in spite of yourself.

He blinked a couple of times, a smile forming on his mouth. A wide, sarcastic one, which turned into an astounded scoff. “Really? That’s what we’re going to focus on right no–?” He shook his head, clicking the phone shut before taking a few cautious steps towards you. “His face I.D.; it opens to me. I’m his fucking identical twin.”

“Prove it,” you challenged.

“Was already planning on it,” he snipped. And right in your line of sight, he opened the phone, putting his face in front of it. Then, it was turned to show you. The same tantalizing screen as before. “Proven.”

“Well. . .,” you faltered, scrambling. “Why did you have it?”

“It was laying on the counter. I went to grab it and my keys,” he jingled the keys in his other hand. “I was going to take it to him,” he explained, sounding exasperated and patient all at once. An anomaly. “But when I picked it up, I looked down, and it opened.”

He took two steps back, once again, holding the phone up to show you the text screen. The gray bubble had never looked so horrifying as it did in that moment. The sweat accumulating on your forehead proved your entire skin care routine pointless. You were shaking. Your skin felt like it was going to fall off from the vibrations taking over underneath it.

“Now,” he started slowly. “Will you answer my question, please?”

His voice broke on the last word and it triggered a single tear to trickle down your cheek.

“Yes, I am.”

“Whose?”

“Really, Jake?” You questioned, the question making your heart break. How could he–?

His eyes went soft momentarily, pleading with you. “I just need to hear you say it, y/n.”

“It’s yours, Jake. The baby is yours. Who the fuck else?”

-🌼🌼🌼-

a/n: this monstrous chapter was a fucking doozy and you already know i wanna talk about it!! come to my asks and we shall chat <333

oh, but i'm just wondering........ what do you think reader's safe place will be? ;) a place? a person? both? hmmm....

ty for being the best readers in the world and pleaseee never hesitate to send in your wonderful thoughts! love youuuu <3

& as usual, it wouldn’t let me tag some of y’all. :( so please check to see that you’re down there because if you’ve asked to be on the taglist, i tried to tag you. buuuut tumblr wouldn’t let me do it for everyone 🙃 ugh. and if i somehow forgot to tag someone, please also let me know that! (i'm a NOOB and i have terrible memory)

Taglist: @joshym, @gretavanfleetposts, @alyson814, @fretaganvleet, @lallisonl, @writingcold, @gvfpal, @twinszka, @jessicafg03, @reesetrippingthelight, @sacredjake, @laurenlovesgretavanfleet, @gretavangroove, @222headedcalf, @dreamssingold, @carbondancingthroughtime, @raviolilegs, @way-to-go-lad, @jakekiszkasmommy, @katgvf, @objectsinspvce, @jaketlover, @vanfleeter, @thetroublegetssoloud71, @seditabets, @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface, @jaketlove, @ohgodthefeeling-gvf, @starcatcher-jake, @anythingforjtk, @lucimoo, @indigostreakmorgan, @gretavanbear, @katelynn-gvf, @alwaysonthemend, @aintthatapity, @bowievanfleet, @fwzco, @takenbythemadness, @cherry-icecreamsmile, @laneygvf, @hi-hi-hello11, @sinarainbows, @jakesbarbarian, @mybussyinchrist, @becinabubblegvf, @heckingfrick, @danigvf, @pinkandsleepy1934, @derrangeddumpsterfire, @klarxtr, @josh-iamyour-mama, @abby-gvf, @cassyface, @gretavansabotage, @torniturntomyarrow, @joshsbonnet, @llrosee, @starshine-gvf, @itsafullmoon, @gvfmarge, @creadliz98

(and, due to t*mblr’s shitass guidelines, i will be adding the other tags in a reblog of the story!)

#jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka fanfic #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet fanfic #jake fic #jake kiszka #covet #my fics

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rrcenic · 5 months

Text

if they had tumblr on the lotf island simulator bc silly :))

🐚 thechief Follow

God I love him so much. Every time we kiss I feel so alive.

🔥 csharpmf Follow

cringe

🐚 thechief Follow

…this is literally about us

🔥 csharpmf Follow

OOOH FUCK I DIDNT READ THE USERNAME

#SORRY BABE OMFG #PLS FORGIVE ME WE CAN HAVE A PARTY W MY HUNTERS ON THE BEAJCH

(9 notes)

🦎 helloitssimon Follow

found a ton of these beautiful leaves and made a flower crown!!

🦎helloitssimon Follow

so. piggy has informed me that the rash on my arms and head is due to the posion ivy ive been wearing for a week.

#everything itches :,(

(23 notes)

🐷 number1ralphstan Follow

Greetings and salutations! This is my first official Tumblr post. My name is Peter. I use primarily he/him pronouns but do not mind they/them.

If you’re a supporter of J*ck or The H*nters DNI!!! I am a Ralph supporter!!! You choir boys make me sick!!!

I have asthma and I am gay. If you insult me, or call me fat, YOU WILL BE BLOCKED!!!

If you are anti-Ralph, I’m not afraid to call you out as the CONCHPHOBE you are!

Lastly: DO NOT CALL ME PIGGY. IT IS NOT MY NAME

🐺 xX_RogerTheHunter_Xx Follow

lmaoooo kys piggy

🐷 number1ralphstan Follow

FUCK YOU

#I AM SO ANGRY RIGHT NOW #YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF #tw h*nters #tw conchphobia #tw j*cks tribe

(341 notes)

👬 sam-and-eric-the-twins-alt-account Follow

#we’re personally more ralph-leaning #but not picky

(15,326 notes)

🔳 mulberry-boy-deactivated

t hebeasty i know it’s there i lnow the hel p help theyre is a beastie pleas

😭 PercivalWemdeysMadison Follow

hey op are you ok

😭 PercivalWemdeysMadison Follow

OP WHAT DOES THIS MEAN PLEASE

#I AM AFRAID

(40k notes)

🤡 sillybillymaurice Follow

brooo my homies @xX_RogerTheHunter_Xx and @csharpmf were talking about their kill streaks and i said “do you play on an open server or a private world” and they just looked confused 😭😭😭 like bro did. were. were you not taking about minecraft????

🐺 xX_RogerTheHunter_Xx Follow

🙂

🤡 sillybillymaurice Follow

girlie help?????

#ur so silly like wtf

(12 notes)

🔥 csharpmf Follow

bro check out this fire art i whipped up this afternoon 💪💪💪 nothin much just a quick doodle 💪💪💪

🐷 number1ralphstan Follow

Hey OP. Maybe do some research on famous art before attempting to plagiarize the Mona fucking Lisa. You disgusting credit thief.

🐺 xX_RogerTheHunter_Xx Follow

maybe you should learn what a joke is lmao

(31k notes)

🐚 thechief Follow

This is your daily reminder to take care of yourself! Drink water and eat some pig! AND FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DONT LET THE SIGNAL FIRE GO OUT!!!

🔥 csharpmf Follow

…i forgor

🐚 thechief Follow

ISTFG

#literally so pissed /srs

(2,176 notes)

🐺 xX_RogerTheHunter_Xx Follow

i am #strong. i am #emo. i listen to #mychemicalromance. i am #dark

*lifts black hair off face, revealing black eyeshadow* i cannot feel love. i care about no one. because i am #EMO!!!! /srs

🦎 helloitssimon Follow

🐺 xX_RogerTheHunter_Xx Follow

no!!! don’t be sad- *bites black lipstick covered lip and glances away* i… i love you

🦎helloitssimon Follow

🐷 ralphsnumber1stan Follow

Oh my God. And you call ME cringe.

#no hate on Simon even though he’s a weirdo #but Roger is like a different breed of freaky #tw h*nters #tw j*cks tribe #tw conchphobia

(865 notes)

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pedrito-friskito · 1 year

Text

strawberry wine - joel miller x fem!reader

during - part eight

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

hope is a dangerous thing.

a/n: it’s heeeeeeeeere. full disclosure - it might be a few days until part 9 goes up; as far as I know, tonight’s ep shows some flashbacks which means I might have to do a bit of revamping! plus I really don’t wanna burn myself out with this one, there’s still so much ground to cover!!

word count: 4.5k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, angst, canon-typical violence and injuries, death, blood, yearning, nightmares, mentions/allusions to sex, if I missed something let me know.

✨follow @friskito-library for updates on new works/chapters!✨

The days bleed into months, and before you know it, the snow comes. Winter.

You haven’t left the mall. Or, haven’t been allowed to leave the mall. Every time you cross paths with Cowan, it’s the same conversation.

“Let me through the gate.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

You’re nothing if not persistent, but you try your best to make yourself useful. You and Deanna have formed some kind of friendship, and you help her out as much as you can. At first, you don’t know much about treating injuries besides the bit you remember from an old first aid course, so you pay close attention to her movements, handing her supplies when she needs it, taking her orders in stride.

She was an army nurse, you learn, and lost her husband long before the outbreak. “Just as well,” she told you, a sad smile on her face. “He barely came back to me after Vietnam. I don’t think he could have survived this.”

They never had kids, but she tells you her niece and nephew may as well have been her own. “They live in Cape Cod, on the coast.” Her face went dark. “Lived.” Then she looked at you. “You remind me of my niece, you know. Fierce little thing.”

She teaches you how to dress wounds and clean them, when something needs stitches and when glue will do, how to stretch the materials you have left as far as possible. When injured soldiers show up after the first snow, she puts you to work.

Cowan’s among them, a ricochet bullet in his shoulder. Deanna hasn’t shown you anything like that yet, and you balk a little as he pulls off his gear, blood pouring down his arm. “Wait here.”

You sprint across the floor to where Deanna is literally elbow-deep in another soldier who clearly hadn’t been as lucky as Cowan. “What d’you need, kid?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly, spying a pair of forceps on the table nearby and grabbing them. “Just these. I’ll come help you after—”

“You go take care of Nicky,” she orders, her voice almost stern. “You don’t leave his side until you know he’s all right, you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You sprint back to Cowan, finding him hunched over, hand pressed to his arm, blood staining his knuckles. You grab a pair of scissors from the tray beside you, hooking your arm under his shoulder and getting him upright. “Fuck!” he shouts, and you grit your teeth.

“Sorry.” You cut away his t-shirt, pulling the fabric from where it’s wedged between his fingers, and his other hand curls into a fist on the table. “What happened?”

“Bunch of runners,” he breathes out, and you yank his hand away from the wound quickly, replacing it with a thick scrap of towel, pressing your hand into his shoulder. He winces, tipping his head back. “Came right up over the fence.”

The corner of your mouth twitches. “I told you that chain link wouldn’t hold forever.”

“Yeah, yeah, you should run the world.” He meets your gaze, holds it. “You ask me to let you through the gate again, and I swear to god—”

“I wasn’t going to,” you say quickly. It’s not entirely the truth, but it’s not a lie either. “But I want to help, if I can.”

The towel has already soaked through with his blood, and it makes your gut twist. “Help?”

“Teach me to shoot,” you say. You’re trying to distract him, and grab his hand, pressing it against the towel. “Hold this.”

“Bat’s not enough for you?”

“No, but the rifle I found in the sporting goods shop upstairs will definitely help,” you reply, grabbing the forceps and wiping them down with a bit of antiseptic. “Especially once I get out of here.”

Cowan stares at you, that hard gaze he’s become famous for. “Why d’you wanna get out of here so bad? You’re—”

“If you tell me I’m safe here, Corporal, I’m leaving that bullet in your shoulder.”

He actually laughs. “God, you are something else, you know that?”

You freeze, for a moment. Suddenly, you’re standing in your kitchen, in Austin. Joel Miller is handing you a bouquet of daisies and telling you you’re beautiful and kissing your cheek. The memory catches you off-guard, and you only come back down to earth when Cowan squeezes your wrist, peering at you.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” you reply instantly, shaking your head. “We need to get that bullet out.”

You hold up the forceps, bracing your hand on his collar. “This isn’t gonna feel great, is it?”

“Well, it sure as hell won’t tickle,” you admit. “Is this the first time you’ve taken a bullet?”

“No. Second.”

“Pull this away, when I say,” you instruct, tapping the back of his hand. “I gotta be quick.”

“Have you done this before?”

You lift a shoulder, a nervous little laugh falling out of your mouth. “I watched Deanna do it a couple weeks back. It was in the guy’s gut though, not his shoulder.”

“Did he live?”

You go quiet. “Move your hand.” He hesitates. “Now, Cowan.”

He moves his hand, pulling the towel away, and you push the forceps in. The air seems to go completely still as you fish for the bullet. Cowan’s face is screwed up in pain, both hands curled around the edge of the cot, white-knuckled. “Did the guy live?”

“No,” you admit finally, feeling the soft clink of metal hitting metal. Bingo. “But we found a bite on his leg after, so the internal bleeding was probably the better way to go.” You twist the forceps, and he hisses in pain. “Tell me about the first time you got shot.”

“Are you trying to distract me?”

“Is it working?” you quip, and he actually smiles.

“It was basic training,” he starts, and you nod, focusing on his shoulder. The forceps pinch around the bullet, and you pull ever so slightly. “My buddy and I were just fucking around. He didn’t know the thing was loaded.”

“He shot you on purpose?” you ask, brows raised. You pull a little more, making sure the grip holds.

“Not on purpose,” Cowan replies, and you can feel his eyes on your face. “We were just kids, then. Just screwing around, trying to fill the time. And now…”

“He still around?” you ask, prompting him further. “Your buddy.”

“I hope so,” he replies. “He moved to California, after we finished basic. I really hope he—motherfucker!”

You pull the bullet all the way out with a flourish, dropping the forceps onto the tray and grabbing a fresh piece of gauze. He hisses again when you press the new gauze to his shoulder, and you scoff. “Baby.”

“You just pulled a bullet out of me.”

“I’m aware,” you throw back, pressing a little harder. “I still think you’re a baby.”

He gives you the signature Stare before glancing down at his shoulder, taking over the pressure you’re holding, and you step away to get an actual roll of gauze. “Meet me at the south entrance tomorrow, and I’ll teach you.” You turn back, your brows raised. “To shoot, I mean. Bring the rifle. You have ammo?”

Your jaw nearly drops. “Yeah, managed to find a few boxes.”

“Good.”

You nod, unable to hide the grin that pulls your lips. “Good.”

They’re somewhere near Nashville. He thinks; Tommy’s been navigating, Joel’s just been following his brother. The weather has held up mostly, but now they’re holed up in some shack Tommy found in the woods, hiding from the rain. It’s been constant, nearly three days now, and Joel can’t fucking sleep.

He hasn’t slept well since they left Austin, not that he expected to. The few beds they’ve found have been heaven, but every time he closes his eyes, the dreams come, and he’s reliving that night all over again. Doesn’t matter how many days go by, and he knows it doesn’t matter at all how much time passes. He’s never gonna forget.

He took first watch, told Tommy to get some shuteye and parked himself on the front porch, watching the rain slide of the metal roof, pooling in front of the shack, running downhill like a river. There’s mud caked on his boots, and he feels dirty down to his bones. It’s been a few days since they had real shelter, though, and he revels in the silence, being away from the main roads.

But the silence lets his mind wander, and when that happens, it lands on you, more often than not. Sarah is always there, in the back of his head, the sound of her voice forcing him further, but when he gets a moment alone — a rarity now — he lets himself remember you.

Your last conversation still haunts him. The fear in your voice, the way you’d sounded so out of it when you first picked up, and he’d brought you back down, focused you. Patch yourself up. Take what you can and go. Get the hell out of Boston.

I’ll find you, baby.

Sometimes, the hope invades his heart like a disease, branching through his limbs and making his chest ache with it. He has to hope that you made it out, that you’re alive somewhere, that your paths are leading straight towards each other. Every time they come over a hill or turn a corner, he feels that tug in his gut, a quiet promise that this time, you’ll be heading straight towards him, a big smile on your face.

But Joel knows that hope is a dangerous thing to let in, to nurture. As hard as he wishes you alive, he knows the opposite is more than likely. He sees it when he does manage to get some sleep, nightmares infiltrating his brain until he wakes up panting, the phantom feeling of his daughter’s blood on his skin melting away far too slowly.

Right now, he’s forcing himself to remember the good.

That last week, before you’d left for Boston. He took you to that open field every night, almost, held you in his arms, kept you close and never let your mouth get too far from his. He’d buried his face in your neck and memorized the smell of you, the feel of you, the taste.

You pulled on his hand, led him away from the truck and into the open field. You laid down in the grass side by side, the sound of crickets and the soft wind the only thing you could hear. He’d leaned over you, cupped your cheek in his palm, rubbed his thumb over your bottom lip. You kissed his fingers, giggling when he rolled himself on top of you a moment later, his mouth chasing yours.

He planted his hands either side of your head and you reached for his belt, dragging your hands down his chest. He could feel your heartbeat, when he pressed himself against you, the twitch of your knees along his ribs as you held him closer. That’s how it always was between you two, who could get the other closer, how much could you pull until the space between no longer existed?

Joel still remembers the noise you made when he pushed into you, right there in the grass. The way you’d dug your nails into his back so fucking hard it made him moan louder, the sound echoing through the night. The blissful smile on your face as the pleasure ripped through you, and Joel felt it, the tightness of your body, the way he could taste it on your tongue.

God, he loved you so goddamned much.

A clap of thunder yanks him out of his head, and he flinches hard, the gun in his lap sliding onto the wooden porch. He’s on his feet in a moment, shoving both hands through his hair, and without another thought, he steps out from under the shelter of the roof. The rain pelts him instantly, soaking through his clothes, making goosebumps rise on his arms.

It feels good. He tilts his face towards the sky, feels the water drip down his arms.

He hears your voice, in his head. What you said that night, under the stars, laid out on his chest, your eyes glassy. “I won’t ever stop thinking about you, Joel Miller. Not for a million years.”

He never should have let you leave Austin. Not in a million years.

Cowan stays true to his word. He teaches you to shoot, not just the rifle you’d stolen from the mall, but other guns, too. Shows you some tricks with the hunting knife you’d found in Dean’s bag, even teaches you how to build a fire. You stop asking him to let you through the gate, and he stops giving you the Stare. After a few lessons, he starts bringing you along on patrols. You carry the rifle and the bat, the hunting knife strapped to your thigh. The temperature is dropping, the snow sticking consistently, and the UPS jacket you’d stolen months back comes in handy, keeping you warmer than you expect.

There’s not much conversation to be had between you two, and when you do talk, it’s light shit. You avoid the subject of families, partners and the like. You mostly talk about music, and you laugh the hardest you have in a long time when Cowan admits to you that he’s seen the Backstreet Boys in concert three separate times. You’re bent in half with laughter, tears in your eyes, and he starts laughing along with you.

The laughter stops, however, when you circle back to the mall. There are four trucks outside, and the hair on the back of your neck stands up when you see Deanna step through the doors. Everyone else who’d been inside, faces you recognize, people you’ve met, they’re all coming out of the mall. Deanna has blood on her scrubs, a strange look in her eye.

“McCoy!” Cowan calls once you’re close enough, and a soldier turns. “What’s going on?”

Both the soldiers step to the side, and you make a bee-line for Deanna, swinging your rifle onto your back. “What happened?”

The older woman looks shaken, and she grabs you once you’re close enough, her hands digging into the sleeves of your coat. “T-Tim,” she stutters, and your brow hardens. You know who she’s talking about; Tim, his wife Marcy, their two kids. Their cots weren’t far from yours in the department store. You’d helped their youngest son, Henry, when he’d cracked his forehead on the tile, tripped on his own feet chasing his little sister, Emily, around the mall. Hell, you’d had dinner with them just the night prior, you and Tim had made the kids giggle slurping your noodles. “He just…” Deanna trails off, and fear twists your stomach in an iron vice.

“Are the kids okay?”

She nods furiously, still holding onto you tightly. “But…but Marcy, she…he just…” She looks back towards the mall, gestures for a moment before clapping her hand over her mouth. “I’d never seen one up close before.”

Deanna collapses into your arms, and you hug her tightly, half worried she’s passed out, but the worry passes when you feel her hands fist in the back of your jacket. Over her shoulder, you see a soldier leading Henry and Emily outside. Henry still has a bandaid on his forehead, and Emily is clutching his hand, tear tracks on her face. Your heart aches.

“I’m gonna go with them,” Deanna tells you, pulling away after a moment, and you just nod. She jogs after the kids, and you turn back to where Cowan and McCoy are still talking. Cowan has a hard look on his face, and his jaw tightens as you approach.

“What the hell is going on?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest. “We’re supposed to be safe in the mall, Corporal. That’s what you said. I could have been halfway to Texas by now. Hell, I could have been in Texas by now.”

“I know what I said,” he bites back before heaving a sigh. “We got an update, from FEDRA HQ.”

You lift a brow. “And?”

He glances at the stream of people still filing out of the mall. “The fungus, the thing that’s causing this, it’s in the food. We need to check everything that was in the mall, everything that was handed out. Production dates, expiry dates, it’ll give us an idea of what needs to be destroyed, but—”

“But there’s a chance everyone in there ate something contaminated,” you finish, swallowing back the bile that rises in your mouth. “There’s a chance we’re all already infected.”

Cowan’s throat bobs. “Yes.”

“What do we do now, then?” you ask, jutting your chin towards the people filling the street outside the mall. “Where do we go? Standing around here like this, it’s just gonna attract them.”

“There are buildings that have been deemed safe,” McCoy tells you, and Cowan just nods. “The quarantine zone has been marked off. We take everyone there, separate you for now, keep an eye out for anyone changing.”

Cowan nods. “Check everyone for bites, again.” He meets your eyes for a moment before calling for two other soldiers. He starts barking orders, and you turn to McCoy.

“I thought the city was the quarantine zone.”

He shakes his head. “Too much space. FEDRA gave us the borders, showed us where to go. The walls’ll go up soon, and we’ll be that much safer.”

You balk. “More chain link bullshit?”

McCoy shakes his head again. “No, ma’am. Bricks. Guard towers, barbed wire. The whole kit and caboodle.”

You swallow hard. Shit.

The chain link stays up. The walls of the quarantine zone press deeper into the city, and as promised, you’re shuffled into apartment buildings. There’s still blood everywhere you look, damaged ceilings, broken windows. It’s not perfect by any stretch, but the building itself is intact, and that’s apparently good enough for FEDRA.

They put you in separate units, the number of survivors taking up less than half the building. You stay with Deanna and the kids. Emily clings to your side, her arms wrapped around your leg more often than not. She hasn’t said a word since you left the mall.

The soldiers patrol the streets and the hallways, and after a week, six more people turn. They’re put down without a second thought, their bodies carried out of the building. The food supplies are carted from the mall to a warehouse within the new zone limits, and everything that was given to you is taken back for inspection. It’s a lot of waiting, of pacing the floor of your new home, of trying to come up with ways to distract the kids from what’s happening.

Shortly after you’d been evacuated from the mall, they’d brought out Tim and Marcy’s bodies, and your hands had started to shake violently when you saw the blood on Tim’s face, the deep gouge in his wife’s throat. Bullets in both their skulls. It had all happened so fast.

And you’d been eating the same things they had.

The worry gnaws at your stomach. You’d protested, at first, when Deanna insisted you come with them. You couldn’t explain it, couldn’t bear to see the pain on the older woman’s face deepen when you admitted you feared the worst. She still managed to pull it out of you, later that night, after you’d put the kids to sleep in the only bedroom, the pair of you sitting at the kitchen table.

“If it happens, it happens, kid,” she said, gripping your hand tightly. “And we deal with it. That’s all we can do.” You’d nodded, and she’d reached into her bad, producing a bottle of gin. “Something to take the edge off.” You nodded again.

A week passed, the six were put down, and you were safe. Your mind started to wander. Trucks filled with construction material arrived at the edges of the quarantine zone every day; you could see them from the apartment. More FEDRA soldiers, some venturing into the city to find usable materials. Soon enough, the wall was starting to take shape.

And if the wall went all the way up, that meant you were never getting out of Boston. Never getting the opportunity to find your family, or Joel.

But, the wall has only just begun, which means there are still holes in the boundary, and with more soldiers assigned to the quarantine zone itself, that means the chain link is left unguarded, for the most part.

They announce curfew hours and the consequences for breaking those hours, and you start planning. Collecting things, weapons and food that won’t spoil, refilling your first aid kit. You take what ammo you can find, nicking a few boxes from the FEDRA tents when no one’s paying attention. You still have the maps from the bookstore, your hastily-drawn path still marked on the pages.

You wait for nightfall, and you run.

You leave Deanna a note, tell her you’re sorry, tell her you’ll try to send a message that you’re safe, once you are. The kids are fast asleep, and you kiss their heads before you go.

Your path through the city leads you right past your apartment, and your heart nearly stops. The entire front of the building has been exploded inward, no doubt a result of the bombings. If you look hard, you can see the edge of your living room, behind the twisted rebar and broken bricks. You want to linger, but you don’t, the shout of an Infected pushing you forward, gripping the bat tightly.

The construction of the wall left a lot of tools laying around, and it was all too easy to find a pair of large wire cutters. You found a piece of chain link in an alley within the quarantine zone, and tested it out. Sure enough, a clean cut.

There are still patrols along the chain link, but they’re more sporadic. The guard posts have been dismantled, dragged further inwards, set up again along the new walls. You see a soldier pass by the spot you’re aiming for, and wait until he’s completely out of sight before bolting across the pavement to the fence, pulling out the wire cutters.

You have one foot through when you hear a familiar voice.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Cowan’s kept his distance, since you moved into the building. It bothers you and doesn’t at the same time. But in a way, you got what you wanted from him; you’re more confident that you could make it beyond the fence now. Especially with the rifle strapped to your back.

Your head drops, and you pull your leg back out, straightening and turning on your heel towards him. “You really thought I wouldn’t try it?”

“I really didn’t think you were this stupid,” he shoots back, and you scoff, rolling your eyes. “I’m serious. You will die out there, why don’t you get that?”

You grip the chain link, the metal rattling beneath your shaking fingers. “I can’t just sit around here for the rest of my life, Cowan.”

“So you’d rather waste it, out there?” He gestures towards the fence with his rifle, to what lays beyond. “What good will that do? You’re smart, you know there’s a good chance your family is dead.”

“But until I know—” you start, and your voice betrays you, cracking on the word. You swallow hard. “Why can’t you just let me go? What difference does it make?”

His strange dark eyes narrow at you. They’re blue, you’ve come to learn, but a dark shade that sometimes looks black. “Come with me. There’s something I want you to see.” You open your mouth to protest, and he lifts a hand. “Come with me first; if you still want to leave afterward, then I’ll take you through myself.”

You stare at him for a long moment before slinging your bag from your shoulders, pulling out a length of rope. You thread it through the split fence, yanking the metal back into place and tying it off. Once you’re done, you get back to your feet, and when Cowan turns to leave, you follow.

He takes you back to the quarantine zone. A few soldiers shoot you looks, since you’re out past curfew, but Cowan waves them all off. “She’s with me.”

You keep following him, heart hammering in your throat as he leads you into one of the buildings they’ve cleared out. Down a long hallway, a few more soldiers giving you looks, before Cowan ducks through a doorway, waving at you to follow.

“What is this?”

There are tables everywhere, cords spilling out of boxes, hooked along the walls. On the walls, all sorts of maps and notices, FEDRA orders staring back at you. A soldier sits in the middle of it all, headphones hooked over her ears, twisting the knobs on a gigantic radio, adjusting the antenna. When she sees you and Cowan standing there, she pulls off the headphones, a grin on her face. “Hey, Nick.”

“Melissa,” he nods, and juts his thumb towards you. “Can you set it for the Austin base? And give us a sec?”

She just nods, her face falling slightly, and twists more of the knobs. Her brow furrows a bit until she gets the right frequency, and then she gets up out of her chair, holds the headphones towards you. “Hit the red button to talk, and let go once you’re done, or else they can’t talk back.”

“Thank you,” you say, taking the headset from her. You look at Cowan. “What is…?”

“It’ll connect you with the FEDRA base in Austin. You can give them the names, of the people you’re looking for. They’ll be able to tell you if they’re in the shelters there. If they’re not there, there’s no telling if they’re alive or dead, but at least you’ll know if they’re safe or not.”

Your brow furrows. “Is that supposed to be reassuring?”

“I can’t reassure you,” Cowan says bluntly, and as you sink into the chair, he perches on the desk beside you. “No one can. The world is a fucking minefield, and while yes, I’ll admit you’re a good shot and you clearly know what you’re doing with that bat, you will die out there. If your family isn’t still in Austin, I can almost guarantee you, they are dead.”

You rip your eyes from his face, turning your gaze to the radio, the little flashing lights and the knobs. “You don’t know that.”

There’s a hand under your chin a second later, and Cowan turns your face towards him again, drags your eyes back to his. “I meant what I said. If you still want to leave, I will take you through the gate myself, no more bullshit. But talk to the base first. Find out if they’re still there before you throw your life away on hope.”

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#my fics #strawberry wine #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us spoilers

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ramp-it-up · 1 year

Text

Christmas Time to Me

Pairing: Duke! Henry Cavill x Reader

Word Count: Less than the last one, ok?

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT, Explicit description of graphic sex. Read at your own risk. All errors my own. Pining, angst, young pregnancy, Henry is someone’s father, I am writing about British nobility and I am not British, jet lag, reader has a slight inferiority complex, definite ‘Sir’ kink, Dom thoughts, bratty behavior. Oral (both receiving) nipple, play, rough sex, size kink, cow girl, face sitting, p in v (wrap that up). Whew, this was quite different than the tender scene I thought to write.

A/N: This is for #DJ’sAllIWant4KChristmas and based on this ask from @ysmmsy found here. Let me know if you liked it, love. ❤️

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

Good afternoon my Dear Professor. What do you think about the latest hullabaloo about the British Museum. Do you think they should return all artifacts? It would empty everything out.

Your alarm went off and you yawned and stretched, then reached for your phone, trying not to have any expectations. You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face as you saw a text waiting there from 12 minutes ago, 6:48 am Houston time.

Good morning, Sir. You know very well what I think about that. I could give a rat’s ass about the BU’s inventory.

Lol, I agree, just wanted to get your blood flowing on this beautiful chilly noon day, mate.

You squirmed at the innocent words. He sure did get your blood flowing, to interesting places. And from just a friendly text.

Thank you, Sir. But it’s a nice balmy morning here in Houston. Now go eat lunch!

Henry grinned.

I will. I am looking forward to seeing you and Junie in a couple of days.

Somehow, you could see Henry’s smile through the phone.

I’m excited. I will do professor stuff while you and Junie are hanging out.

Thank you for the consideration, but there is no question that I will leave you alone for a second.

The authoritative tone reached you over 5,000 miles. You shivered, then shook it off.

🙄 Okay, Sir. I have to shower. See you in a couple of days.

You put your phone back on your charger as you shook your head, knowing that you would think of him while you were getting clean.

Henry stared at the text for a long time, his lunch stuck in his throat. He needed to take a drink of water, suddenly very thirsty. His pants got tighter at his desk as he imagined you all wet in the shower. And you calling him ‘Sir’ did things to him. You affected him in a myriad of ways with one text.

“Christ, Y/N,” growled Henry to himself as he rubbed the bulge in his now tighter pants.

He ran his hand through his curls, trying to think of how he would both be appropriate with you in front of Juniper-Rose, and get beyond this friend zone you’d put him in.

Your ‘friend’ was actually a member of British nobility, Henry William Dalgliesh Cavill, the 12th Duke of Jersey, but one who worked at a non-profit for climate change. Your research on Britain’s role on colonialism and world oppression and his activist heart connected you on an intellectual level. He was tall, hot, and a little bit nerdy, just your type.

Too bad that he was your best friend’s baby daddy.

The first time you saw Henry, there was an instant attraction, at least on your side. He was gorgeous, bright blue eyes happy and full of kindness. He looked at you with an appreciation that you recognized from a man, but there was nothing offensive in his gaze.

Junie was literally bouncing in his arms, and his smile was ear to ear for his toddler. He seemed full of girl-dad joy and it was obvious that he was wrapped around her tiny little finger. Of course that made him even more alluring.

You tried to keep from swooning every time you saw Henry, as he grew up from slim-thick twenty something to grown and sexy hunk of a thirty something. Every time you saw him, he got sexier. And your body reacted more.

But girl code, and the fact that you were sure that he was still in love with Jasmine even though they were not together, prevented you from sharing your feelings.

You settled for debates whenever he was in town, which morphed into emails, which changed into friendly texts. He spent all of his available time in Houston with Junie, your goddaughter (christened Marion Eleanor Juniper-Rose Cavill), so the talk was light and passing, and you didn’t want to intrude on Daddy/Daughter time. Smiles and electronic chatter was the entirety of your relationship with Henry. Or so you thought.

You couldn’t, and shouldn’t want for anything more.

Jasmine was always the brightest star in your friend group. To you, she was always just a little bit cuter, prettier, popular and brighter than you, becoming a Rhodes Scholar and jetting off to Britain at 17, while you only earned a National Merit and stayed at home in Houston to attend Rice University.

You two stayed close, communicating every day, you reveling in her adventures studying Economics at Oxford during the week and partying in London on the weekends. You lived vicariously, internalizing the stories Jazz told you as you lived your quiet academic life at Rice with your quiet boring boyfriends.

She casually dropped the news about Henry and the fact that he was a Duke, stating that he was bored of his life of duty and privilege. They kept it fun and casual. Until Jasmine turned up pregnant during her senior year.

Even though they were young starting out, Jasmine and Henry were wonderful co-parents. The only difficulty in the arrangement was that neither Henry nor Jasmine would, or could, give up their lives 5,000 miles apart. Despite his obligations, distance was no barrier for Henry. He would fly over at the drop of a hat for his daughter.

One memorable occasion was when Junie broke her arm playing soccer at eight years old and had to have surgery. You almost hyperventilated when you ran into Henry, who was on Jasmine’s doorstep a day later looking tired and worried. He was very, very handsome, but he was not checking for you. It was all about Juniper-Rose, as he called her. And probably Jasmine too.

The next years of Junie’s life were filled with regular visits to Britain and from her father. Henry came to the States every summer for Junie’s birthday and took her back to Britain for a few weeks. Jasmine took her to London every Christmas, using the opportunity for her work in Economics and to catch up with her European friends.

So here it was, Junie’s 14th Christmas, and you were recruited (by Jasmine of course) to escort her to visit her father on her yearly holiday visit to Britain. Except Junie refused to go this year. Something about wanting to be with her friends who were going to Mexico. And so you wound up being convinced (by Jasmine of course) to go alone. For the entire eight hour flight, you lamented the fact that you did something that you normally don’t: go with the flow

When you landed at Heathrow on December 23rd, you expected a driver to be waiting for you, but what actually happened was surprising. There was Henry, with a small smile, holding up a placard with your name.

You stopped for a moment, heart beating erratically, not expecting this at all. Henry gazed at you as you collected yourself and moved toward him. His smile grew incrementally as you got closer.

“Hullo.”

His baritone held early morning gruffness and was making you feel some kind of way.

“Hello Henry, I mean Sir…I mean Mr. Cavill…Your Grace...”

You felt like you had to curtsey, and you were tongue tied. Meeting Henry in England was different from talking to him on the phone, or texting. Then, you could pretend that he was a regular person, not British nobility and the real-life embodiment of your fantasies.

Henry’s eyes dilated when you called him ‘Sir,” but then he blushed and looked down, then back up at you to correct you quietly, but firmly.

“Henry is fine. Welcome to London.”

God, you were wet.

“Thank you. I.. I didn’t think that you would meet me personally, I mean, knowing that Junie wasn’t here.”

Henry’s smile dropped.

“Juniper-Rose and I spoke, and I am disappointed, but hopeful that she will join us. But I had to come greet you. To thank you for… for everything that you do for my daughter. And for me.”

Henry held your gaze for as long as you would allow before you flushed and turned your eyes to the floor. He was so god damned beautiful.

“No… no.. problem. I love that little girl.”

Henry reached for your carryon, brushing your fingers with his. You felt electricity down your spine as he started walking toward the exit.

“My driver, Benjamim, will get your other bags.”

You chuckled.

“So you do have a driver…” Henry cocked his head at the comment, wondering what was going on in that head of yours.

“Of course. I told you. I wanted to meet you myself. You are a very special person to me.”

You did not, for a moment, believe that he really meant that. It was simply British politeness.

“And I told you. What I do for Junie, I will do forever. She is like my own.”

You did not want Henry to be nice to you out of obligation.

“And that is part of why I… That is why I have to thank you.”

You were quiet, wondering what this outpouring of communication and sentiment was owed to. You zoned out as you were waiting for the car, staring off into space as you bit your lip. Was Henry trying to get back with Jasmine? Is that why he met you at the airport? What was the reason?

You sighed when you realized that you were giving yourself a headache overthinking, and you realized that you hadn’t had any caffeine yet this day.

Henry interrupted your thoughts with a chuckle.

“You’re overworking that mind of yours, Professor.”

You made a face as he laughed again.

“Come, we’ll get you settled and get you some tea and allow you to rest. Then, tonight, we’ll go out and witness Christmas Time in London.”

“That is just the ticket. Thank you again, Sir Cavill.”

You gave Henry your full smile and a little curtsey this time, and you could see Henry’s smile falter. He cleared his throat and opened the door of the SUV for you. You got in, relaxed in the luxurious seats, and was asleep before Henry and Benjamin got your bags in the car.

As the car rolled along into London, Henry watched you sleeping. You were beautiful, unguarded and soft. He knew that you didn’t know how gorgeous you were and that you constantly compared yourself to Jasmine. For him, there was no comparison. The first time he saw you, it was like he was struck by lightning. At that time, he thought it was unlucky. Only with time and maturity did he realize that he could make his own luck. With you.

You awoke as the car pulled into a drive of a beautiful, large white building. It was almost like a castle. Henry was staring and you stared back, disoriented at first. You looked around.

“Is this the hotel?”

Henry smiled at you.

“It’s my home.”

You smiled back at him.

“It’s beautiful. Will Benjamin be taking me to my hotel after this?”

“I was hoping you would stay here… those were the plans when Juniper- Rose was coming and I… “

Your mouth was hanging open and Henry’s heart sank.

“Of course, I’ll get you a hotel…”

You felt bad. Henry had done an awful lot for you.

“No need! I’d love to stay here. You are too kind.”

Henry looked troubled.

“Y/N, I…”

“Yes?”

“Never mind. Let’s get you settled.”

Your suite of rooms were gorgeous. It was basically a little flat, with a sitting room, en suite and a huge four poster bed, and roaring fireplace.

As soon as you were in your suite, tea was delivered. You are something, took a shower and then rested, letting everyone know you had landed. You were due to get dinner with Henry at 7 PM London time. You decided to nap some more to get over your jet lag. You needed to clear your head of all of your anxious thoughts, and sleep always helped.

It seemed your dreams were filled with thoughts of Henry as well. You woke up warm and wet, as well as dismayed that you were going to be with him in England for so long with this yearning need and no way to satisfy it. You were glad that you had packed your small toy. You needed some relief before you saw him again, or you were liable to jump his bones.

When you came down the stairs at 6 pm, you took Henry’s breath away. You were dressed in a bright red sweater which showcased your cleavage and form fitting black pants that showed all of your curves. Your face was slightly flushed and your smile was shier than this morning. He just wanted to take you in his arms when you reached the bottom stair.

“You look Lovely, Y/N.”

Henry’s eyes shone at you. Damn, he was being so nice.

“How do you feel?”

“Well. I think I’ve done my best to fast forward my body to Londont time. Ready to go!”

You moved to put your coat on, and Henry took it, his fingers brushing your neck as you were getting it settled. He felt your slight shiver as he let his fingers linger just a moment. He had a little bit of hope.

You took him in. Henry had changed from his pullover and joggers that he had on in the morning to a broadcloth shirt unbuttoned at the neck and with sleeves rolled up. He was in dress pants and shoes, and his hair looked combed but run through with fingers. You wished you could play in those curls. You stared for what seemed like forever until Henry cleared his throat and offered his arm.

“Are you ready to see the sights?”

“I sure am, Your Grace.”

Henry rolled his eyes and shook his head

“Stop. If anything, I should be on my knees for you.”

“What?”

You didn’t quite believe that you heard him correctly. He smiled.

“Nothing, let’s go.”

——

You were absolutely charmed all night. Henry showed you around London sights at sunset and a dinner at Cafe Cecilia. You talked with Henry like you were old friends, and you were, in your way.

Any anxiety you had about Jasmine was erased from your mind with the good food, good wine, and good conversation, mostly about you. If you didn’t know any better, you would think this was a date.

When you excused yourself to go to the bathroom, you didn’t see Henry checking out your ass in your slacks, you just saw how happy you were in the mirror when you washed your hands, you tried to tell yourself to calm down, that he wasn’t into you at all.

Meanwhile, Henry was wiping his hands on his slacks, trying to quiet his own nerves. Your conversations over the years stuck with Henry, and he played them over and over in his mind. When it got to the point that he was replaying how your mouth looked, your curves that his eyes couldn’t help but trace, and the erotic dreams he had about you, Henry had to admit to himself that he had more than just friendly feelings for you.

When he looked up and saw you coming back to the table, his erratic heartbeat and the fact that he could swear that your nipples were erect and pointing right at him, made him decide to tell you how he felt. That night.

An hour and a half later, you were looking over the night skyline with Henry in the private London Eye pod he rented when he spoke to you, barely above a whisper. His voice was hesitant and gruff. And sexy as hell.

“Y/N. I think I… I do.. I feel for you very deeply.”

You turned to him, butterflies loose in your belly.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Come on, Y/N. Exactly how much more hinting do I have to do? I am absolutely besotted with you. I told Jasmine how I felt months ago.”

Henry was looking at you, with those beautiful blue eyes determinedly fixed upon you as you paced before him inside the capsule. It was not lost upon you the fact that his eyes were taking in the entirety of your figure. The backdrop of the lights of the city surrounding you from atop the Eye made the scene that much more romantic.

But you didn’t feel romantic. You felt incredulous.

Henry stood up from the bench in the middle of the pod.

“Y/N. I text you every morning..”

“But that’s just your lunch time.”

“I call you my Dear Professor..”

“That’s… that’s just a British thing, like Sherlock Holmes..”

Henry raised his eyebrow at you and looked stern.

“Y/N. I think about you all the time. I am constantly thinking of how to tell you how I feel and now that you are here, in front of me, I’ve decided to just say it.”

You stared at him.

“Well.”

Henry sighed, frustrated.

“Well. I have deep feelings for you.”

“I can’t believe… you did all this. For me?You hardly know me.”

“Don’t start this again. I want to get to know you.”

“Are you trying to get next to Jasmine again?”

Henry threw his hands up.

“What has this got to do with her?”

“Everything has to do with her!”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Yes, it does.”

Henry was mad.

“Tell you what. Forget I said anything.”

“Fine.”

“Great.”

You two sat in the pod in silence for the next 15 minutes until the ride was done. Henry was texting on his phone and by the time you disembarked, Benjamin was waiting with the car.

You were despondent as you drove back to Henry’s place. You watched him glaring out of the window and thought you’d certainly blew your chance.

“Good night, Y/N.”

Henry breezed by you as you entered the house. You said goodnight to his back as he went up the stairs.

Yep. You blew it.

30 minutes later, Henry was tossing and turning, fighting the urge to go to your rooms and fuck you into submission. You needed to be tied up and… Needless to say that Henry was not getting a good sleep thinking of all the ways he could try and make you understand.

You were nowhere near sleep. The nap earlier and the time difference had you wide awake. As well as thoughts of Henry.

After an hour and a half, you found yourself in the hallways looking for Henry’s rooms. As you crept down a passageway, a door opened on your right.

Henry, sexy as hell in pajama bottoms and curly chest hair, glared down at you.

“What are you doing?”

The question was terse, and you felt the chill. He was still mad.

“I was thinking…”

You bit your lip as you looked up at him, and Henry melted a bit. But just a bit.

“That’s the problem. You think too much.”

“I know…”

You found yourself playing the brat and moving closer to him as he guarded his doorway.

“But I wanna know what you think.”

Henry sighed.

“What I think about what?”

His raised eyebrow indicated that he was about done with you. You feared a spanking. And that made you smile.

“What do you think about when you think of me…”

Henry blinked and pursed his lips. But he didn’t hesitate for long.

“I think about how smart you are, how funny. I think about how our conversations make me think. And I wonder what goes on in that head of yours.”

You lifted your chin to look him in the eye. Henry returned your gaze, then allowed his eyes to follow the form of your body in your thin t-shirt and short shorts.

Henry’s jaw clenched and he seemed to take a step back. You pursued him, stepping forward.

“Is that all?”

You felt more confident now, and your sultry voice was barely above a whisper. Henry had to concentrate not just to listen, but to hold himself back.

“You don’t want to know.”

“Don’t I?”

You kept moving forward until you were toe to toe with Henry.

“Tell me all your thoughts. Even the naughty ones. Especially the naughty ones. I wanna know what goes on in that head…”

You reached up on tip toes and ran your fingers through his hair, brushing the curls back that had fallen into his face.

Henry grabbed you by the waist and pulled you flush to him, so that you could feel his burgeoning erection.

“I’ve got to kiss you first.”

And he did.

His lips pressed against yours, lightly, rubbing across yours, then he opened his mouth and his tongue tipped out and traced your cupid’s bow. Then he took your bottom lip and nipped lightly, causing you to gasp and as you did so, he claimed your mouth. He suckled your tongue, ruining your panties as his hands slipped down and grabbed your ass. You were breathless as he pulled away.

You looked up into his hungry eyes as they blazed blue fire.

“I think about that. Kissing those lips, feeling this beautiful body. I think about your breasts, what color your areolas, how they would taste. I dream about how your ass would feel. I think about lying between these thighs and having you sit on my face. God, Y/N…”

His long fingers squeezed your bottom and pulled your cheeks apart. The sound and feel of your wetness set Henry’s soul on fire. You whimpered in his clutches.

“Is it possible that you want me as much as I want you?”

Henry tried to peer into your soul.

“If not, tell me now, and I will not bother you again. But if there is some chance…. by God, I want you, Y/N….”

“Henry I…”

He was waiting for word from you. You moved your hands from Henry’s chest down to his cock, which was large and throbbing between you.

“Henry, I want you too.”

“So you want to do this? With me?”

“Exactly how much more hinting do I have to do? Fuck me, Sir.”

Henry smiled as he hauled you backward into his room. He sat down on the bed and you climbed up onto his lap, grinding together through your night clothes as he pulled your hair back and attacked your neck with kisses and bites. His other hand went up your shirt to weigh your breast and roll and pinch your nipple.

He bared his teeth in enjoyment as you squirmed on him.

“So so reactive for me, does that feel good, yeah?”

You panted and nodded yes, caught up in the energy of the moment.

He slapped your nipple hard. You keened and shouted, “Yes, oh yesssss.”

You felt his cock throb.

“Just as I thought. You’re a naughty little girl. My naughty little girl now…”

Henry dipped below your t-shirt and started sucking your nipple hard and nipping at it as you desperately tried to find friction on your clit. You hastily pulled off your shirt, then tried to put your hand down your pants.

“Ah ah ah. Don’t touch.”

Henry captured your hand and bent it behind your back, bending you backward as he turned around and deposited you on your back.

“So so beautiful.”

He bent over you and ran first his hands, then his lips and then his tongue over your areolas, grinding into you again. Your legs bent around him, trying to lock him into the friction against your nub. Your whines got to him and you watched as he took off his shirt.

“Needy little thing, aren’t you?”

“Need you, Henry.”

“Need you too, love. I’ve been waiting for this for years.”

You reached for his pants.

“Give it to me, Sir. Please Sir, Please.”

“Fuck. You sure you want it?”

You started rolling your own nipples and you arched your back as you let your legs fall apart.

“Most definitely. Sir.”

Henry’s eyes were mesmerized, drawn to your core and your weeping, wet cunt. He automatically pulled down his pants and his huge thick cock slapped him on his stomach.

“I am so weak for you.”

You wanted him even weaker so you sat up and tested his weight in your palm. You looked up at him as you wet your lips.

“Wanna taste you. Can I, Your Grace?”

You pecked his dripping tip and let the string of precum stretch to your lips from the head of him as you gently played with his balls. Henry’s voice was impossibly deeper now.

“You may…ughhhhhhhh.”

You slipped your lips around him and drew him into your mouth, using your tongue to circumnavigate him. You had to hinge your mouth open wide to take his girth. You knew your jaw was going to be sore in the morning.

“Naughty, sweet naughty girl. Do you like to get your face fucked? Oooohhh, fuuuck!”

Henry’s hips started moving as his fingers pulled your nipples.

“I wanted the first time to be sweet and tender, but you… you are better than my wildest dreams. And I do mean wild.”

Henry fisted your hair and held you to him, forcing your throat open with his thick member and causing you to gag. After a few seconds, he let go, but you stayed down, causing him to curse.

“Bloody hell, you’re going to make me cum down your throat.”

“Ummmm hmmmm.”

You answered as you pulled off, messy with spit and pre cum. Henry’s eyes were alight as he bent down to grab your thighs and toss you back on the bed.

“You’re trying to get properly fucked, but I need to taste you first.”

He lay down beside you and grabbed you again, palming your ass in his hands as he maneuvered your legs around his shoulders. His hands were your seat as he prepared to eat you like some decadent fruit. He brought you to his mouth and his eyes watched you as he tasted you. They rolled back as if in rapture and he dove in, fully suckling and laving you.

Henry stopped long enough to say, “Sit down!” because you were trying not to put your full weight on him.

When he pulled you down on his face, his tongue went deep inside you as he nibbled at your clit. His tongue was so skillful that your legs drew up around his head and your thighs started shaking.

You pulled at his hair and started begging.

“Stop, please stop. Henry. Sir. I’m gonna… I’m… ahhhhh!”

When you came, and released into his mouth, you tried to climb off of him, but he held you fast, eyes dark with warning.

When he came up for air, Henry grinned at you.

“Now’s the time to split you open, Love.”

He literally grabbed you and positioned you above his pelvis. You knew what to do from there and you watched as he positioned himself so that you could slide down around him. You looked up at him as you bend your thighs so that his tip could breach your entrance.

“You feel as good as you taste.”

Licked his lips as you slid down around him slowly, his thick cock difficult to take. The stretch almost took you out, but your wetness helped you out. You felt unimaginably filled to the brim with Sir Henry Cavill.

“So fucking tiny, Love. You feel so good, my naughty little girl.”

You whimpered as you stayed still to adjust to him, and as you grabbed his hand to feel himself inside your abdomen. His eyes got wide.

“Such a tight fit. D’you feel me? Feel me inside there?”

His cock throbbed and he started to move a little, eyes dilating as you winced.

“Does it hurt, Love?”

“Y-y-es Sir. Only a little.”

You bit your lip as Henry spit on his thumb and started working your clit.

“Don’t worry, Love. I’ll make it feel better.’

“Hnnnghhhh. Ohhhh!”

Your back bowed as Henry pistoned inside you, and the pain turned to pure pleasure. Henry sat up and held your arms behind your back with one hand, and man handled your breast with the other. He suckled your nipple through his fingers and then gave you a filthy kiss.

“Do you want to be mine?”

“Hnnnhhh. Yes. Yes. Sir.”

“Good girl. You know what to say already.”

He gave you a sweet peck on your lips as he pinches your nipple. Hard. That caused you to shatter, and you came around his cock.

Henry looked down.

“Look at that cunt. Pulling me in so greedily.”

He looked back up at you.

“Look at your face. So Lovely with it all fucked out.”

You were lost in his eyes as he rotated so that your back was on the bed.

“Need you to cum Sir. Job’s not done.”

“Your wish is my command. Tonight. But I will demonstrate to you who your Lord is later on.”

And Henry started to pull out, stopping just in time to save your sanity as you were ready to fight if he left you right now. He hiked your leg around his waist as he delivered powerful thrusts to seat himself deep inside you.

“I wanted to be gentle, but no. You pull this primal nature out of me. I can’t be polite.”

“I wouldn’t want you to be, Sir. Be yourself. Give me yourself. Take me.”

Henry grunted and suckled your collarbone, sure to leave a mark as he pumped sloppily into you.

“Cum again…”

You obeyed his command as he reached between you and thrummed your clit. You detonated just before he did and you both came back together in each other’s arms, sweaty and out of breath.

You stared at him as if he weren’t real.

“What’s wrong, Love?”

“I now know the meaning of Happy Christmas.”

Henry smiled and kissed your forehead.

“It is a happy Christmas, indeed.”

Reblog = Love

#ask dj #dj will answer #dj’salliwant4kchristmas22 #Henry Cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x female reader #henry cavill x black reader #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill smut #henry cavill imagine

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neonghostlights · 1 year

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A/N: I wrote this because I wanted to rip my own heart out. Also, I am not saying 30 is old in this. Just showing Reader's insecurities with aging. God, I hope this isn't weird. Kinda got the idea from Twilight when Edward asks Bella if it's not enough to have a long happy life with him. Please read the warnings.

Warnings: Vampirism, death, suicide, angst, fluff, bittersweet, infertility, Smut, Age gap but not really (you'll see), they are so in love, I literally never proofread so I'm sorry. 18+ only Minors DNI.

Wordcount: 4.9k

Vampire!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

July 1986

Thick black curtains covered the windows of the new government provided trailer. Blocking any sliver of light from penetrating the room. Eddie felt bad for you as you laid on the carpet beside him, a fan pointed directly at your face in an effort to cool off.

You insisted on sitting in the darkness with him, even when the rest of the world was out celebrating the fourth of July with cookouts and fireworks. Eddie had even begged you to go with the rest of your friends to Steves for his pool party, but you refused. Saying it wouldn’t be the same without him there. Wayne was nice enough to buy some hotdogs and sparklers for you to enjoy with him once the sun had set and it was safe for Eddie to venture outside again. Even if Eddie didn’t care for human food anymore, he could at least watch you enjoy yourself.

The only time Eddie could join the land of the living was at night. Due to his new body, sunlight would set him into flames in an instant. He remembers the first time he tried to look out of a window on a cloudy day after he had changed. You, and Steve dragged him away from the window as his skin blistered and burned painfully. It took him days for it to heal.

There was no denying it. Sunlight would kill him. Not even the cover of the clouds or clothing would protect him.

If you would have told him in March that instead of graduating highschool he would first get accused of murder, then thrust into an alternate dimension that kills him, and then somehow wakes back up as a bloodthirsty vampire he would have asked who your dealer was so he could give them a call.

You and Eddie were both 20 years old and madly in love. At least if you asked him that’s how he would describe it. He had never felt anything like the way he felt for you. He was certain after his change to vampirism that you would leave but you never did.

You stayed with him through the heightened senses, emotions, bloodlust, and the learning curve of discovering his newfound strength and speed. Even when he begged you to go and move on to something better than him. You stayed by his side, much to his relief.

Whispered conversations would come up in the middle of the night. Discussions on what the future for both of you would hold. Neither of you could walk away from the relationship you had built for the past two years. Neither of you wanted anyone else.

But with Eddie’s new condition he was technically dead. He would no longer grow or age. So where would that leave you?

Your only answer for that was for him to change you to be like him.

This was the start of many fights for the both of you. Eddie trying to talk to you out of it while you had made your mind up completely.

Plus there was the logistics on how to do it. He had bitten you before and it didn’t affect you. It wasn’t like they could just drop you into the upside down and let the bats change you like they had him, Eleven had destroyed it all. And even if she hadn’t, Eddie would never risk your life like that. Never make you go through that pain and trauma.

Dustin had been doing some research for you and was thinking that blood sharing might work but you hadn’t tried yet.

“Are you excited for sparklers, Eddie?” Your sweet voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

He looked over at you, unable to fight the wide grin that spread across his face. Your tanktop stuck to your skin, the fan in your face doing nothing to fight the heat in the small trailer. Your hair moved with each burst of air. You looked at him, brows furrowed. Eddie thought it was sweet how worried about him you always were. How you always made sure he was having fun too.

“Super excited, sweetheart. Gonna tie a bunch of them together and make a super sparkler,” he said smugly, waiting to see your reaction.

You rolled your eyes at him, biting your lip to hide your smile. “You did that last year and caught Mrs. Dunn’s garden on fire, remember?”

Eddie’s mouth opened as he looked at you in mock offense. A loud snort sounded from Wayne in the kitchen as he tapped his cigarette ashes into the sink. Eddie looked at him from his vantage point on the floor and cut him a hard glare. Both for his audacity to laugh at him, obviously taking your side in the great trailer park fire debate, and also for still smoking when he promised he would try to quit this year after a bad bout of back to back pneumonia this year.

“If you can call a bunch of dead weeds in a trailer park a garden then sure,” Eddie conceded.

You sighed and sat up, wiping sweat and hair out of your face. Glancing over at the clock by the front door a sly smile broke out across your face. “Looks like it’s almost time,” you giggled.

Eddie wanted to ask you what you meant when a loud knock sounded from the trailer door, shaking the walls. Thanks to his hearing, Eddie could pick up the sound of multiple excited heartbeats on the door side of the door.

You jumped up excitedly, carefully stopping to peel back the curtain, shielding it with your body to protect Eddie from any rays of sunlight that may shine through. You hummed approvingly to see the sun was gone for the night.

Eddie got up to stand behind you as you whipped the door open to reveal a grinning Robin, Jonathan, El and Nancy. Behind them, Steve, Mike, and Lucas argued on how to set up a folding table while Dustin and Max attempted to fill a kiddie pool with a water hose.

Joyce and WIll were pulling containers of food out of the back of the car, stopping to wave at Eddie as he stared at them in disbelief. Eddie was so happy he was still technically able to eat, even if they provided him with no nutrients.

“What’s going on?” He asked, voice full of emotion as he even spotted the grumpy Chief Hopper carrying supplies to be set up.

“It’s a pool party!” Robin exclaimed.

“But, I thought you already did that today. In the sunlight.” Eddie clarified.

“The sun’s overrated. Nobody wanted to celebrate without you,” you squeaked from beside him. He hadn’t realized how tightly he had his arms wrapped around you until that moment. He loosened his grip with an apologetic smile. Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to your temple as a thank you. You were right, the sun was overrated.

May 1996

Eddie pressed his mouth to yours, swallowing your moans as he slowly rocked into you. Your nails dragged down his back making him shiver as he held you. Eddie could feel you fluttering around him as you reached your release, heels digging into his back to bring him as close as possible. Trying your best to meld you both into one person.

Eddie’s hips moved faster as he groaned into your mouth. He buried his face into your neck, your scent grounding him as his orgasm wracked through him. You both laid tangled together in your bed. You were trying to catch your breath while he listened to the rhythmic lullabye of your pulse. One of his favorite sounds in the world along with your voice.

Eddie lifted his head from his hiding spot to look down at your smiling face. With a featherlight touch he traced your features, memorizing them as if he hadn’t been madly in love with you for over the past ten years. Like your face wasn’t burned into his brain and heart.

But you were changing, slowly. You were convinced now that you had aged to 30 years old that you were now a grandma.

Eddie knew you didn’t really think 30 was old. Your insecurities were rooted in the self doubt of Eddie’s own condition. In the past ten years he had never aged, but you had. Eddie thought you were just as beautiful as the day he met you.

Your hopes of changing to become like him were abandoned now. He had bitten you and even given you his own blood, following some old folklore that Dustin had dug up. None of it had worked. You had both exhausted the safer options. Some of the vampire lore said Eddie would have to drain your blood for you to change or you would have to die with his blood in your system. Eddie put his foot down at those. He couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t go on knowing he had hurt you.

You eventually stopped talking about changing. Eddie could see how much your aging was affecting you though. He knew if he was aging too then you wouldn’t care. He couldn’t help but feel so guilty to be the reason you were struggling. He would do anything to go back to being a human for you.

“Why are you looking at me so seriously?” You asked from under him.

He had gotten so lost in thought that he had forgotten the position you were in. Separating from you he laid behind you, his hand reaching out to play with a strand of your hair.

“Is it a crime to stare at my beautiful wife?” he teased, kissing the side of your mouth. A piece of your hair still held lightly between his fingers.

“I guess not. But I am making it a crime for you to touch my hair,” you grumbled, pulling a pillow up to cover your face to muffle your voice.

“And why is that?” Eddie chuckled, prying the pillow away and tossing it to the other side of the room where you wouldn’t be able to grab it again.

You let out a deep sigh before turning to face him, your face morphed to seriousness. “A lady at work pointed out that I have gray hair.”

Rage bubbled in his chest. The feeling to protect you from harm, emotional and physical, overwhelmed him. He took a deep breath, listening to your heartbeat to help calm him down.

When he was able to unclench his jaw, he spoke, “I hope you told her that was rude of her to say.” He shot you a stern look. You had both had the conversation many times on learning how to stand up for yourself. Especially since Eddie was stuck in the apartment you shared during the day, hiding from the sun. He wasn’t able to follow you around everywhere and rip the bullies apart like he wanted to.

The guilty look on your face as you pulled the blankets up to your chin told him everything he needed to know. You were too sweet to argue back, always too afraid to say something wrong and hurt the successful career you had built for yourself. A career you had worked hard for after attending classes at the local community college. Eddie couldn’t have been more proud for you to walk across that stage. You worked hard to become a night shift nurse, permanently shifting your sleep schedule to stay awake all night with him. While Eddie took random night shift jobs when he had the chance. He never stayed at them long, not liking that his schedule sometimes left unprotected at night.

He didn’t even like having to leave you alone to hunt for animals at night to curb his blood thirst. But it was something he had to do.

“Babe, we talked about this. Besides, I do not see any gray hair.” That was a lie, he had noticed a few thanks to his improved eyesight. But they made no difference to him so why would he point them out to you.

“That’s because I went straight to the bathroom at work and plucked it out of my head!” you exclaimed as you sat up to pull on your t-shirt.

Eddie shook his head slowly, letting out a low chuckle at your antics.

“It’s not funny, Eddie. It wasn’t even gray. It was white. That means I’m ancient!”

“That does not mean you’re ancient. I’m pretty sure Wayne told me got his first gray hair at 18. It’s all genetics, baby.”

You smiled at the thought of a young, white haired Wayne. It had taken a while for Eddie to be comfortable talking about his Uncle ever since he died 7 years ago after a battle with lung cancer. He had never actually gotten around to quitting those cigarettes.

“And, if you’re old then I’m old. You know I’m 30 too. Technically, I’m older than you by a whole month. I won’t stand to be made fun of like this,” Eddie mocked, arms crossed across his chest. You let out a laugh that made Eddie’s dead heart soar.

“You’re ridiculous,” you huffed.

“Ridiculously in love with you,” he sang. “Now, how about you get dressed and I take you to the diner for a middle of the night dinner date?”

You grinned up at him and nodded. The way you looked at him made him think you would follow him anywhere.

November 2006

You and Eddie sat snuggled up in the living room of your house. You had both spent the day putting up Christmas decorations. After twenty years together, Eddie will never win the argument that you are supposed to wait until after Thanksgiving to decorate. You knew his complaining wasn’t serious, he would do anything to make you smile. Even if making you smile meant spending an hour untangling old lights just to plug them in just to realize they don’t work anymore.

You had both moved away from Hawkins five years ago, kissing your one bedroom apartment goodbye.This home was much more secluded than your last place. Far enough to stay out of nosey neighbors prying eyes at the reclusive and nocturnal Eddie Munson but close enough to still visit your friends and their kids.

Your upper lip had the faintest stain of hot chocolate on it. Eddie didn’t say anything about it, deciding if it was still on your lip after the movie then he would just kiss it off for you.

He opened his mouth to make a smart comment about the house looking like the North Pole in the beginning of November only to see you teary eyed as you stared up at the cheesy Christmas movie that played on the TV.

Eddie looked at the screen, expecting to see some heartbreakingly dramatic scene unfolding. What he saw was worse, the main character laid in the hospital bed with a pink bundle tucked into her arms.

Eddie’s heart cracked in his chest as you turned your head to sneakily wipe a tear away.

In the beginning of your marriage you both soon realized that biological kids weren’t going to be an option for you. Eddie had brought up the idea of adopting or even using a sperm donor, but you quickly shot him down. Saying that it would make it too complicated for the kid to explain why Dad looked so much younger than Mom. You told him not to worry, that you were perfectly content with never having kids.

He always noticed the look of longing you held when one of your friends had a new baby.

You grabbed the remote and clicked the movie off, doing your best to give Eddie a reassuring smile. “Ready for bed, handsome?” you asked.

He followed you to your room where you got ready for bed while Eddie pulled down the covers. Making note that the next time he went out for a hunt he would need to grab you some new flowers. The ones on your nightstand were starting to wilt.

You crawled into bed beside Eddie, wrapping your blankets around you like a cocoon to stay warm. “I’m so tired.” Your voice already sounding groggy.

Eddie smiled at you before leaning down to finally kiss the chocolate away.

“Goodnight, I love you,” he whispered in your ear before he pulled you closer.

“Night. Love you,” you replied with a yawn.

Eddie laid staring at the ceiling as your breathing slowed and you drifted to sleep.

The guilt crept up on him as he thought of the look on your face earlier. You wanted a baby and he couldn’t give that to you. Here you both sat, pretending the life you lived was normal and fulfilling for you but he knew better. You were missing out on so much because of him.

Maybe you would just be better off without him.

You were only 40 years old. If he left now you could still have a chance of a normal and happy life. You still had time to get remarried, have kids, and not live your life in the shadows like him.

Eddie slowly pulled his arms away from you and waited to make sure you wouldn’t wake before he slowly climbed out of the bed and got dressed in silence, throwing some items of clothing into a backpack for the road.

He took one last look at you before he crept through the house and out the front door, pausing to lock the deadbolt on the front door.

Eddie walked through the woods surrounding your home. Knowing that as it got closer to daylight he would need to duck into a neighboring home's shed or garage to wait out the sun. Or maybe he could find a cave, cave’s were a thing around here right?

Eddie walked for an hour before the anxiety set in.

Did he remember to turn off the stove after he made your hot chocolate earlier? What if it's been on this whole time? What if the house caught on fire with you trapped inside?

He knows it was just his mind playing tricks on him. He had walked past the stove multiple times since using it. He would have noticed if it was still on.

He shook his head and continued walking.

The next thought made him stop mid step.

Did he lock the door?

Yes. He did. He stopped on his way out and locked it, like he always did when he went hunting in the middle of the night.

But what if this time he didn’t. What if for some reason his brain was creating some type of false memory. What if someone broke into the house and you woke up too late to protect yourself.

He just needed to go back and make sure really quickly. And then he could leave and find shelter by morning.

Eddie unlocked the front door and peeked into your bedroom to see your still sleeping form. You remained in the same position he had left you in. He smiled at your ability to sleep through anything.

Eddie replaced the flowers on your nightstand with the new flowers he picked up on the way back home before he undressed and crawled into the bed beside you and pulled you close to him.

You scooted closer into him, snuggling your face into his chest.

Eddie looked down at you and decided he could never leave you ever again.

June 2016

Nancy set the perfectly frosted cake in front of you at the kitchen table. Carefully shielding the candles to prevent any of them from blowing out.

You beamed as you stared at the pink frosting. The number candles proudly announcing that today was your 50th birthday.

Eddie thinks you have never been more beautiful as the lights dim and the candles reflect in your eyes.

Eddie was able to get all of the group over to the house, even their kids and the newest grandkids were able to make it to celebrate their favorite aunt. Dustin led everybody in a very interesting rendition of Happy Birthday, causing anyone within a couple feet of him to wince and cover their ears.

Age had not changed Dustin Henderson one bit.

After your wish had been made and slices of cake had been passed around, you bounced the newest Harrington grandchild on your lap skillfully while Dustin’s son told you about his newest invention he was working on. Eddie laughed at the way you nodded your head and hummed like you knew what he was talking about. Eddie couldn’t blame you though, he was no good with this new technology either.

Eddie looked around the room, happy to see all of his friends in the same place. Happy that after everything they were able to come celebrate you.

Later that night after everyone had left, you and Eddie sat on the couch while you flipped through a new book that Robin had gotten for you.

“What was your wish?” Eddie asked suddenly. Hoping that it was something he could buy you himself, even though you were firm about him not getting you gifts.

You looked up at him from behind your book, shooting him a suspicious look. “You know you’re not supposed to tell or it won't come true. I’m not risking this wish.”

“Now I just want to know more,” he said as he scooted closer to you.

“Fine.” You closed the book and set it on the coffee table. “My wish was for Dustin to take singing lessons. Maybe next year we can make it out without any hearing damage.”

Eddie snorted. “Yeah, right. You’re not getting out of this one. What makes this wish so great that you can’t risk it?”

“Because maybe it’s not a wish for me,” you said softly.

Eddie didn’t say anything else when he wrapped his arm around you. He never did find out what your wish was.

August 2026

Eddie found you sitting on the bed in complete darkness. Not a trace of light could be found in the room. He knew something was wrong when he came back from hunting to find the mirror in the bathroom covered with a sheet.

You had been sad lately. More critical of yourself. Trading off between staring into the mirror for long periods of time or completely avoiding it all together.

“What’s wrong?” he asked as he entered the room. You flinched and scooted away from the light that poured into the room from the hallway.

“I think you need to go, Eddie,” you croaked. Evidence in your voice that you had been crying.

Eddie didn’t turn the light on as he crossed the room and dropped on his knees in front of you. You turned to face away from him so he couldn’t look at you. He never told you about the night he did almost leave.

“Hey, talk to me. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“This is wrong, Eddie. You’re wasting your time with me. I’m 60 years old. I look like a grandmother. I could be a grandmother. And look at you.” You waved your hand at him to prove your point.

“Listen to me very carefully, you seem to be forgetting the fact that I am 60 years old too. Who cares if I don’t look like it? Who cares what the outside world thinks? We know our relationship. I have loved you since I was 18 years old and nothing is going to change that,” he said sternly, hoping to get his point across.

“You’ve been given this gift, Eddie. You could be living it up and exploring the world right now. You’re wasting it,” you sobbed into your hands.

“You’re right,” he said, making your crying stutter as you looked up at him. “I was given a gift. The past forty years with you have been a gift and I’m thankful for them everyday. We knew this would be hard but I’m in it for life. Don’t cry.”

You sobbed even harder at his words. He knew you knew he was right. He knew that this would be hard but he couldn’t imagine not having you. He still loved you so much and thought you were the most gorgeous person in the world. If there were such a thing as soulmates, he was sure you were his.

“Come here,” he whispered as he pulled your hands away from your face so he could wipe your tears. He rocked you back and forth as your crying slowly stopped. He knew that this feeling would pass, that it was just a moment in time.

Eddie would smash every mirror in the world if it would make you feel better.

February 2036

Eddie liked to make Valentine's Day a big deal for you. Some years he would get you reservations at restaurants for after the sun went down. In recent years he would ignore the stares of the other patrons as he held your hand over the table. He didn’t care what they thought. On the outside he was 20 but mentally he was just as much 70 as you.

He could tell it bothered you when you noticed the looks on their faces and you would pull your hand away.

This year you were determined to stay in though. So he cooked you your favorite meal and was able to run to one of those 24 hour markets to grab you a fresh bouquet of roses.

You ate your candlelit dinner together, chatting about the newest thing you saw on TV or any updates in your friends lives.

Eddie was amazed everyday that even after spending fifty years together that you two never ran out of anything to talk about.

He was also in awe of how graceful and beautiful you still were, even at 70 years old.

You came home giggling after your last doctor's appointment when the doctors and nurses couldn’t even believe how old you were, saying that at first glance they thought you were much younger.

Eddie noticed how you were practically walking on clouds for the rest of the day.

You said it came from a long lifetime full of love and happiness. Eddie couldn’t help but agree.

Eddie was ecstatic as you let him hold your hand over the table as you both ate dessert.

You stood at the sink, insisting on washing the dishes while Eddie relaxed.

You could hear the soft melody of a song drifting from the speaker that sat on the kitchen counter.

You smiled at the familiar sound of Saturday Morning by Harry Chapin.

A tap on your shoulder caused you to turn around. Eddie stood behind you with an outstretched hand.

“May I have this dance?”

You smiled as you wiped your hands off on a dishtowel. “I’ve never been much of a dancer, Mr. Munson.”

“Well, Mrs. Munson, I can promise you that you’re a much better dancer than I am.”

You placed both hands on his shoulders as he held your waist, rocking you from side to side.

“Happy Valentine's Day, Eddie.”

“Happy Valentine's Day, my love,” he whispered softly into your ear.

July 2046

Eddie knew it was going to happen today.

You had gone so down hill since you initially gotten sick a little over a year ago. It had gotten to the point where you were barely able to get out of bed anymore.

Your heartbeat was uneven and your breath labored. Your eyes were shut as you slept. He wondered if you were dreaming about him.

He watched from the chair beside your bed as each inhale rattled your chest.

He knew this would have to happen eventually. You have lived 80 beautiful years. 62 of those years with him by your side. He knew you had a happy life.

He didn’t want to live without his wife.

His thumb smoothed over the back of your hand in a circular motions. He hoped that you were able to tell that he was there with you. He hoped you knew he would never leave you. He hoped that somehow his presence brought you peace.

“I love you. Did you know that? If you need to go it’s okay. I’ll be okay,” he said softly, moving to smooth a hand over your hair.

Your pulse slowed down drastically at his words.

He listened as he heard your heart stop and you let out one last breath.

He tucked the blankets around you one last time, ignoring the chasm forming in the center of his chest.

Was it possible for his dead heart to stop beating all over again?

Eddie sat in the silence of your bedroom. The pictures of the two of you over the years still sat in the photo album laid on the nightstand. Fresh flowers from the last time he went out sat in the vase on your side of the bed.

He checks the time, noting that the sun was up now and the hospice nurse would be stopping by soon to check on you.

Eddie gave you one last look as he leaned down and placed a kiss on your forehead.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said before standing up and walking to the front door.

Slowly opening the door, he stepped into the sunlight.

What would be the point of living forever if it wasn’t with you?

#vampire!eddiemunson #vampire!eddie munson #vampire!eddie munson x reader #vampire eddie munson #vampire #vampire!eddie #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #vampire!eddie x reader #Kas!eddie munson #vampire!eddie munson x you #eddie munson au #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson angst

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stormkobra-5 · 2 years

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Hold Me Close (Moon Boys)

Pairing: Moon Boys (Mostly Steven) x fem!Reader

Fic Type: Drabble

Summary: Having been against touch all your life, now that you have three loving boyfriends, you’re overwhelmingly clingy. Cuddles, hand-holding, standing so close you’re up against them; but sometimes that’s just not close enough.

A/N: Soooo, I’m probably gonna do a Santi version of this? And Poe of course my space husband. Also this was supposed to involve Marc and Jake, but I couldn’t come up with a good story for them yet… :///

Rating/Warnings: 18+ NSFW, Minors DNI, light smut, mention of virginity loss, cockwarming, fluff, a little angsty, hurt/comfort, cuddles, touch-starved reader, touch-starved Moon Bois

~🌙 Steven🌙 ~

You heaved a sigh.

It wasn’t enough.

Your life had been one of light touches, 30 second embraces, cuddles only when a small child or when crying– and that you certainly didn’t do often. As you grew older, you became averse to touch. The thought of hugs made you so uncomfortable you visibly cringed, personal space became a large issue for you, and even a mild handshake was enough to have you inwardly squirming with discomfort as if a centipede was crawling on you. Physical touch, you came to feel, was a very, very bad thing.

Until you met them.

Your boys.

Steven Grant, the sweet gift shop worker with a bit of sass, secretly a tough-ass in a tux when night rolls around. Marc Spector, his alter, the soft but rough mercenary who had pushed you away for weeks when you’d first met. And then Jake, the brutal cabbie driver who fronted only rarely, long enough to serve Khonshu or to protect his alters– until he met you. Marc could get past physical touch if necessary, but he didn’t like it. Jake despised it, he still wouldn’t let you within a foot of him at any given time. Steven was the most like you.

Yearning for touch but detesting it, you’d both, slowly, learned to overcome it. It was barely-there brushes of fingers when grabbing something from the other at first, which made you both yank back as if you’d been burned. There was a lot of talking. Unplanned touches sent Steven into a spiral of mild panic and you retreating into your shell. And so, one day, on the couch, you and Steven spent the day literally warming up to each other.

The first touch of his fingertips against yours made you both gasp, and then you remained like that. Hour by hour, you slowly began to increase the contact, until finally, you were holding hands. Many hours later, past midnight, you closed the distance between you in an embrace that left you both breathless with sobs at the contact. It felt unnatural to both of you, to be held like this.

And then, the unthinkable happened.

You started craving it.

He kissed you for the first time that night, and from that night onward you were always stealing kisses from each other. You slept entangled like koalas, facing each other. All those years of wanting someone to love you enough to hold you, and finally, you found him. Them. Because soon, Marc started to hold your hand, too.

It was Steven, though, that took your virginity, and you’re a little embarrassed to say that when you were cuddling afterward, you were quietly sobbing into his shoulder. “Hey… Love, did I hurt you?”

“No,” You’d answered, comforted by him rubbing your back. “Not at all. I just… I never knew…”

“How intimate this would be?” Steven finished softly.

“We’re so close,” You breathed in disbelief, about the fact that he of all people wanted this intimacy with you– this closeness. As close as two people could possibly become. “Please don’t go away. Ever.”

“Never,” Steven promised, sealing it with a kiss.

And while the cuddles, you clinging to him like a human backpack as he went about the house, and the constant entanglement of your bodies on some level comforted you, sometimes, when you were feeling especially in need of physical contact– like now– it just wasn’t enough.

Steven sat on the couch beside you, reading. You were pressed flush against his side, legs thrown over his lap, one between his knees. He had one arm around you, the other on his book, and his head laying on yours. And yet, despite this closeness…

It wasn’t enough.

You weren’t sure how to say this. Not at all. But there were some nights when you slept with Steven that he remained buried inside you, keeping you as close as humanly possible. It’s something you both clearly enjoy, but have never openly stated– so you wonder, what would he think of you saying it out loud? Asking for it without sex?

Of course he notices something is wrong. Maybe it’s the tenseness of your shoulders, or the way you keep shifting as if to get even closer. Steven lifts his head, taking his glasses off as he looks down at you. “What’s wrong, love?”

“Nothing,” You lied, a lie you’d told your entire life. It came easily now, a habit you’d never be able to break.

Steven made a face, carding his fingers through your hair. “Aw, dove. That’s not true. What is it, hm?” You could only shrug. Unsure of how to bring it up. Steven knows that you’re hiding something, but he doesn’t push you. He keeps massaging your scalp, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Alright, then; you can tell me when you’re ready.”

It isn’t until you’re getting ready for dinner that you are.

Steven is reading on the couch; his eyes widen to the size of dinner plates when you step out of the bathroom in the pretty short nightgown he likes so much, instead of going straight to making dinner with him like you’d planned. “L-love?!”

“Steven…” You say nervously, wringing your hands together. “Can… Can we try a different way of cuddling?”

“Yeah,” Steven answers, eyes raking over your body and drinking in the sight of you. “What’d you have in mind?”

“U-um…” You nervously crawl onto the couch beside him, on your knees as you struggle for the words. “You know how… uh… sometimes after we have sex, you uh… kinda…”

Steven’s quick. He gets it immediately. “You want to be connected, love?”

You let out a whooshing breath of relief. “Yeah.” Immediately after, you added, “I just want to be close to you, and today, it just… Cuddling just doesn’t feel like enough right now.”

“Well,” He leaned over to give you a warm kiss. “Sounds like a bloody good idea to me, dove.” His hand rested on your thigh, massaging the flesh gently. “You alright with me getting you ready? I don’t want to hurt you.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle a little. “You mean can I handle it without jumping you?”

Steven laughed quietly, his smile dazzlingly bright. “Yeah.” You nodded, and Steven didn’t waste any time. Without breaking eye contact, he slipped his hand up your nightgown. You bit your lip as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, slowly working you open and chuckling into your mouth as he kissed you messily. “Aw, love; you’re already soaked. Why didn’t you ask me for this earlier?”

He pulled his hand away and sucked his fingers clean with a soft moan, trying to ignore the fact that your face must have mimicked the sudden arousal you felt. “D-didn’t know how to ask–” You cut off as he guided you closer to him by your wrists. You planted a knee on either side of his hips, hovering there as he untied the drawstring of his sweatpants to remove his half-hard length.

“You can ask me anything,” Steven breathed, letting out a sharp intake of breath as his tip brushed your soaked folds. “Anytime,” He added, although it was more of a growl he started to enter you. Your jaw fell in a silent scream as he guided you down onto him. “That’s it, dove, that’s it– agh–” He bottomed out, stretching your walls to a slight burn; you gasped at the feeling as you involuntarily clenched around him. Your relieved sigh was music to his ears, and it took everything he had in him not to buck up into you– at least, not more than the two times he couldn’t help himself. He forced himself to sit still, and you saw him visibly struggling. Immediately, you felt guilty. Is this too much for him, too little?

“W-we don’t–”

“Just… just gimme a second, yeah?” He whispered, breathing deep to control himself. Eventually, his hands found your hips as he calmed, a sparkle in his eyes as he kissed you. “O-okay; I can hold out now. Feels good for you, dove?” You wrapped your arms around his neck, collapsing forward onto him and relaxing into his embrace, overwhelmed by the intensity of the waves of your emotions, of the feelings of warmth and safety. Steven wrapped one arm around you tightly, the other coming to rest on your stomach. He massaged your abdomen, making you both moan into your kisses when he nudged that place where his length rubbed against your insides. “There,” He breathed, keeping his hand still. He rubbed his nose against yours, trying to keep his breathing even. “Feel that?” He met your gaze, dark eyes conveying a sense of assurance. “I’m as close to you as I can ever be physically, love.” He eased up on the pressure, which was good, else you never would have lasted with him inside you. He gripped the back of your head as he kissed you, licking into your mouth and tracing your tongue with his. “But it doesn’t matter how close I physically am, does it?” He breathed into you, so softly you could barely hear him. “Because even if we’re apart, I will always be right,” He kissed you again, hand dropping to sit over where your heart was. “Here.”

“Don’t ever leave me, Steven,” You whispered, leaning into his touch.

“Never ever, not in a thousand years. Nothing’s ever going to take me away from you, dove. You hear me? Never. I promise.” Steven pressed his lips to yours passionately, lovingly, as if trying to convey how much he loved you without words. “If you ever need this, darling, just ask. I’d be more than willing.”

“I love you, Steven,” You sighed softly.

“Love you too, darling.” He shifted so that you were lying down. He faced you, keeping your back against the couch, wrapping his arms and legs around you protectively. He pecked your forehead. “With all my heart.” Dinner was forgotten, both of you falling fast asleep.

————————————————————————

Thanks for reading! I’m gonna be doing Marc, Jake, Poe, and Santi probably, eventually. ://

Taglist: @dameronsknight @sylkisdagger @atzlena @gucciboots @pastel-0-princess @poeticsorcery @rosaren2498 @love-on-the-murder-scene @wintergirlsoilder2 @blackcat-midnight-thatsme @multifandomsw @bookloverfilmoholic @khaotic-kris @hb8301 @soggumm @simonsbluee @adamcarlsenslvr @bluestuesday @magnet-girl @rosellacwrites @dweeb-central @ilymorepls @drwhofangirl1963 @loonymagizoologist @auszimbo @tealrivers @laters-gators12 @izbelross @xcatnapsx @child-of-the-moon-gods @djarinsgirl27 @sokoviansorceress @eerievixen @cold-buffet-ham @upbeat-cascade @stark-kirk-rogers-grant-blog @candydancey @rqmanoff @jakelcckley @sharin4readers @lovely-cryptid @marc-spectorr @rmoonstoner

#moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #steven grant x you #steven grant x y/n #steven grant x reader smut #steven grant x fem!reader #oscar isaac #oscar isaac hernandez estrada

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trykefag · 1 month

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Hi.... :] before we get into this I wanna say one (1) thing: I'm pro-Palestine AND (shocker) pro-Israel. I'm hitting a hornets nest tagging this with pro-Palestine when how I view being for Palestine is so drastic to others' views.

Any sort of harassment or antisemitism will be reported and you will be blocked. We don't hate Jews or Israelis here. Also, if you tag this post with "to the river to the sea Palestine will be free" you're ignorant and dunno what the fuck you're saying.

This post is lengthy (imo) and just my personal spew on stuff, it's nothing like...revolutionary lol. I just need to get shit out somehow.

I don't get the anti-Israel crowed like....they know nothing and its so baffling they'll just say shit they don't understand the concept or history of. You can be pro-Israel and hate the Israeli government, you can be pro-Palestine while also realizing that the history is very convoluted and if you did a simple YouTube search about history on Palestine and Israel you'd be more educated. You can be both pro-Israel and pro-Palestine...shocker I know!

I've learned more from YouTube than in history class. I've also learned that antisemitism is very easy to fall into, which is something I knew but didn't understand. Pro-Palestinians I don't doubt actually care, I'd love to think most Pro-Palestinians actually give a fuck about the murders that're happening! The downside is that they're falling and repeating shit the fucking Nazis would say in the name of activism and see NO ISSUE. (Saying "gas the Jews" and holding up Nazi flags is, even in the name of activism, antisemetic.)

I try and not be cynical, but like there's literal dog whistles and antisemetic shit being spoken about and there's signs being put up that says "No Jews" and there's even fucking Tumblr blogs with "Jews DNI" on them. (I've seen them, they're very much real. Most of them have "Zionists DNI" which is usually just a dog whistle to Jews, but I digress.)

Don't get me started on fucking Zionism actually, no one knows what the fuck that is and they claim they do when they don't. It's so brain numbing!

"Go back to where you came from!" that'd be Israel....which you wanna get rid of. That's also what Zionism is btw. Jews are from Israel...please Google things before you open your yapper.

I can only find solace in the Jumblr tag (& similar ones) because they have knowledge about what the fuck is going on and I won't get called a "Zionist Nazi"!

In the face of chaos I will say that studying and my plans to convert one day is the best decision I've ever made; you can't get rid of Jews, no matter how much you want us gone. Reading the Torah, researching about Israel, learning the culture, the food, the language, etc. It's healing and I'm glad to be coming home slowly but surely. Am yisrael chai.

#tryke stfu #jewish convert #jews by choice #jumblr #i/p #pro israel #pro palestine #am yisrael chai #jewblr #long post #antisemitism #antisemitic

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erodasfishtacos · 2 years

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The Only Thing That Matters

Prompt (from kofi commission): Easton’s birth!

Word count: 10k+

warnings: angst, smut, childbirth, minors dni

if you liked please reblog, recommended, like, and come talk to me about it! (this is what motivates me to continue writing)!

i write for FREE - I am also trying to steer away from paetron so everyone can have access my stories - so if you would like to support my work, you can donate here.

authors note: i am so excited for you guys to read this. i worked my ass off on this! i hope you guys are a little SHOOK by the plot 😙

It unusual for the two to fight.

They weren't a couple who participated in pointless power struggles or irrational debates, just occasionally get annoyed with one another, if that.

It was unfortunate that one of their first major argument was occuring when they had so many exciting events happening in their lives.

College graduation was looming over them, after months of studying for exams, it was nearly time to take the finals.

Harry wasn't concerned about studying, finals weren't important to him, not with the draft ceremony only two days away.

YN had never seen Harry so high-strung or stressed out - he was usually very carefree and not worried about a single thing enough to make him on edge like he has been for the past few weeks.

His nose wasn't buried deep in his textbook for sports management, no, it was constantly on his phone to read articles and watch videos about the upcoming event and experts opinion on who was going to be first pick.

YN was not quite sure why he was so anxious, nearly 99.9% of predictions were that he was going to be the first choice.

It wasn't a secret he was already to be predicted to be one of the best players of all time, of course he was going to be picked first - any team would be idiotic not too.

It was the pressure that Harry was getting from every aspect of his life, his coaches, teammates, and the media.

The most upsetting part of this was that Harry had become so overly stressed out and pressured that he was drawn thin - he was constantly between working out, practicing, photoshoots, and interviews for ESPN and Sports Center.

YN can't remember the last time that he had gotten more than four hours of sleep, other than their 'date night' which was a evening they set baseball and studying aside to watch a movie with the promise of sex afterwards - especially because that wasn't happening quite as much with how exhausted Harry was.

However, not even fifteen minutes into the movie, he had his head tucked into the crook of YN's neck and was snoring softly with his shower-fluffy hair tickling her cheek.

She couldn't be upset because she knew how tired he must be, especially if he turned down sex because that had literally never happened before.

It wasn't anything they couldn't manage together, they tried to end up at least sleeping in the same bed at the end of the night - almost exclusively at the frat.

It wasn't until a day before they was going to fly from North Carolina to Miami for the ceremony and following festivities that things started to go wrong.

YN had three, yes, three final papers plus an article for a journalism class. The other two of her classes were comprehensive exams that took a lot of studying of all the information they learned in a semester.

Not to mention the journalism article that had been taking endless hours of research, interviews, and deep diving into archives of the library to get done.

It was always planned that YN would go with him, of course she would, he wouldn't rather have anyone else there to support him.

Not to be dramatic, but Harry knew that he would be marrying YN after the second date, it was just a matter of time before he bought her a ring.

He actually already had a plan of how he was going to propose.

After his first game in the major leagues, he would bring her out onto the field, just the two of them, and get down on one knee - fireworks lighting the sky right afterwards.

But plans rarely turn out that way.

YN had just stayed up for nearly sixteen hours straight, switching between studying flashcards and typing away viciously at one of the many papers.

Her lids were heavy, making it more difficult to blink at the bright screen, her stomach was in knots so she hadn't eaten recently.

Harry had been at a meeting with his management team, there was a lot of coordination that went into making sure everything went smoothly.

It had been an itching thought in the back of her mind that she wasn't possibly going to be able to go to Miami, not with everything due but she was still praying she could get it done.

Then that dream was obliterated into tiny, nonrepairable shards when her laptop died - unexpectedly.

She hadn't realized that the charger was not pushed in enough to provide the power to do so, which meant that she had just lost nearly four hours of work that her groggy mind had not saved.

Still hopeful, she quickly plugs it back in and pulls up her document again - only to be confronted with the thousands of words she was missing from her writing.

Fuck.

YN can't do anything for a moment but let her head drop in her hands and internally scream at the situation.

Tears build up from the frustration, the disappointment, but also the realization that she is definitely not going to be able to go to Miami.

Harry had been so excited, he'd been talking about bringing YN with him since they first started dating - over two years ago.

She knew he had set up dinner reservations, a couples massage, went out of his way to make this special for her despite the fact that the trip was supposed to be for him.

YN knew she needed to prioritize her education, she knew that Harry was her soulmate and she hoped they would get married soon but nothing in life was guaranteed.

She didn't work hard all of her life to get a good education just to be a trophy wife, she needed to be able to support herself if she had to be on her own.

Harry had also been on edge even more so than lately and YN knew this news wasn't going to make the situation any better.

The night unfortunately does not go any better after this.

Harry opens the door to her dorm room, his hair is damp from a locker room shower and his shirt is sticking to his skin from putting it on before he was completely dried off.

He had his practice duffel over his shoulder and an annoyed expression decorating his face, not the usual puppy dog excitement when he sees her after a long day.

"Why are you here?" Harry asks abruptly, voice rough from a long day of yelling - he doesn't drop his bag or make any effort to make himself comfortable.

YN looks at him, perplexed, why wouldn't she be in her own dorm room?

He sees the confusion on her face, huffing out like he's impatient he has to explain it to her, "I texted you like six times to meet me at the frat. I'm tired and don't want to sleep on your tiny bed. C'mon."

She didn't appreciate the attitude that was interwoven between his words.

She could understand and appreciate that he was stressed up but it didn't mean she had to put up with the backlash of it.

"I can't tonight, H. My computer died and I lost almost an entire essay that is due," YN explains, pushing back her chair from the desk so she can spin around and cross her arms to let him know that she meant business.

"Just come do it at the frat," Harry states, like it's the obvious solution, "I'm tired and I'm not tryin' to have a back and forth with you."

YN's eye bug at him in disbelief, scoffing as she says,"Then sleep by yourself tonight. It's too insane to concentrate over at the frat. I need to get this done."

"We need to talk about the trip," Harry replies, his tongue kissing the back of his teeth, "Figure out the details."

She takes a deep breath, it's not ideal to tell him right now when he's already crabby but she didn't want the guilt weighing on her for any longer than necessary.

"I'm not going to be able to go," YN's voice softened, tears prickling at the corner of her eyes as she looks down at her feet to avoid the hurt flashing across his face.

"What?" Harry drops his bag and strides over, he kneels in front of her, finger coming under her chin so he can make eye contact, "Darling, I've been a bit short lately. I'm just-"

She stops him with her finger brushing against his plush lips, "It has nothing to do with that. I just don't have enough time to finish all these finals if I go this weekend. I have to put school first."

Harry's eyes narrow, nearly into slits as he processes what she's telling him, pushing back to stand up, "I want you to come with me."

"I want to finish my college degree that I worked my ass off for," YN bites back, tears boiling over as anger sweeps through her body at his stubbornness.

"Why are you acting like you're going to actually need to work?" Harry asks in true bewilderment, "I'm estimated to be the highest paid player ever and this is what you're worried about?"

YN grinds her teeth because he is being so fucking obtuse right now, "I need my own livelihood, incase things dont work out. I'm not saying they won't but I need to be able to stand on my own."

"What the fuck are you even talkin' about?" He replies with more frustration than she's ever heard out of him off-field, "You know we're going to be together. I'll always support you, even if something happens."

YN throws her hands up in agitation, "I can't believe that you're being so dense. You care more about me attending this event than graduating from college. Do you even hear yourself?"

"Do you just not want to go?" Harry accuses as he stands back up and straightens his back - rigid and cold, "You should have been more responsible and had them done by now. Not acting surprised when they're due. You've known about Miami since last summer."

"I am so supportive of you, literally even second of the day. I don't appreciate your lack of understanding about this," YN tells him, trembling with a mixture of agitation and desperation for him to understand.

"Because I need you there with me!" Harry booms, louder than he's ever been with her, "I don't understand how you can't bloody see it! I literally planned three days of shit for us to do afterwards from massages to rooftop dinners and you're now refusing to go because a fucking essays you poorly prepared for."

A sense of guilt starts to sink into her stomach.

Even though she was angry at him for the way he's reacting to the news, she understands how much he must be hurting that she isn't going with him.

"Harry, your mom and Gemma are going. It's not like you'll be going alone," YN tries to remind him but his jaw is clenched and eyes fiery - past the point of conversation or reasoning.

"Right. Well fuck me for wanting the woman I want to spend my life by my side during the most improtant night of my life," He replies with a disgusting amount of sarcarsm laced through his words.

"You're being unreas-" She tries to argue but is cut off by his loud tone again.

"You know what. Have fun writing your essays. I'll see you when I get back from Miami," He cuts her off before slinging his duffel back over his shoulder and heading towards the door.

YN has tears streaming down her cheeks as she watches her boyfriend.

He glances back at her before leaving, reminding her, "I love you, more than anything but right now I am so fucking furious with you."

And then the door shuts louder than necessary.

YN finds herself wiping her cheeks with the sleeve of her sweatshirt constantly through the night as she trudges through the essays.

She half expects Harry to come back, apologize and just hold her for a bit, maybe even a text message but nothing comes and that's how she knows he's more angry with her than he's ever been.

Miami was only a day away and her heart shattered when she realized that Harry had no plans on seeing her that day before he left.

YN ends up drifting off to sleep with her head resting in her arms at her desk, only barely conscious at some point to move to her small bed.

Harry is always the first one to text in the morning because he's always up the earliest because of his beginning of day workouts.

When YN rouses from her sleep, disoriented and just feeling off, out of habit she grabs her phone to text her boyfriend - realizing that he hadn't sent her one.

A wave of nausea hit her at that moment, having her flee from her bed to the bathroom to empty her stomach into the toilet bowl.

She stays there for at least fifteen minutes, trying to breathe through the turning of her stomach.

It ebbs after awhile, allowing YN to jump in the shower and clean herself up, she just felt absolutely awful - emotionally and physically.

YN chalked it up to the stress, the fighting, the amount of work she still had sitting ahead of her at laptop.

Throughout the day, YN checks on Harry through their 'Find My Friends', he's busy from his location changing to the stadium, gym, across town at his manager's office, talking to scouts, and she knows he's not purposely ignoring her except for via phone.

YN found herself running to the bathroom once more around noon due to her stomach just churning but she figured that the stress of everything was really getting to her.

Quite a few mornings over the past week and half, she'd been waking up with an upset stomach because of all the pressure of the semester coming to an end.

Since then, she'd been cautiously sipping on a ginger ale and trying to get her nerves under control so that it didn't happen again.

She can't lie and say that she isn't constantly checking her phone to see if Harry has texted her or called - she would be shocked if he actually left for Florida without another word to her, that would be too out of character for him.

And she's right.

It's nearly nine at night, her bum hurts from being sat at her desk for the whole day and there's still so much more work to do.

There's a knock at her door, a bit harsh, and she knows exactly that it's her annoyed boyfriend.

YN gets up to unlock the door, she's relieved because she thinks that he's forgiven her and he finally understands why she can't go.

Instead when she swings open the door, Harry who looks dead on his feet doesn't make a move to come in - his shoulders are broad and tense, he looks unhappy.

"Hi," YN starts but doesn't get her full greeting out before being interrupted.

"Did you finish all your work?" Harry asks bluntly, raspy and sharp, "It shouldn't have taken you more than the day, right?"

"H," She replies softly, "I'm sorry, baby. I really really am. I just can't go. It’s not all going to be done by tonight.”

Harry swallows harshly, jaw flexing as he processes her words, "I can't believe you. You know how important this is to me, how important you are to me. Can't believe you're really fuckin' doing this to me."

YN has never seen Harry this upset with her.

Sure, she sees him rage and act like an absolute nightmare on the field but when it came to them - they'd really fought, sure they got annoyed with each other but not like this.

"Harry, you're acting like I am purposely not wanting to go!" YN exclaims with a tinge of fire, her tone raising just the slightest at the offense.

"You know what, have fun with your papers. I'm glad that all your stuff is so much more important than me," He bites back, his eyes are livid and his voice is louder than hers now.

"Yes, I am so sorry I think it's more important to graduate college than go to Flroida for a weekend," YN replies sarcastically, her hand squeezing the doorknob.

"You bloody know I'm going to be first round pick! You fuckin' know I'll be making so much money I won't ever have to worry. Neither will you because it will be your money too!" Harry huffs out, his anger rising as his neck starts to flush pink.

"It's not just about money, H. I'm not going to stand here and argue with you. You're being unreasonable," She shakes her head, truly though, she justs wants to give him a hug and tell him she's sorry for letting him down.

Harry just stares at her for a moment, deciding his next words before saying, "I'm being unreasonable? I think it's pretty fuckin' reasonable why I'm upset but you've made up your mind apparently. Have a great weekend."

The last sentence was coated in a fake happiness before he's pushing off the doorframe and turning on his heel.

YN slams the door to get across the point that she's not in the wrong and she's just as angry with him.

When she finally shuts her laptop screen, it's late and she has a headache - she misses her boyfriend because this is the longest they've went without talking and she just wanted to sleep in the same bed as him.

But they’re both stubborn, she isn't going to fold on this one because she knows she is making the right choice for herself.

YN can't believe she forgot to set an alarm because when she finally blinks her eyes open - the now familiar nauseous rolling through her, it's nearly noon.

Harry would already be in Miami, getting his tailored suit on, and nearly ready to head towards the stadium for the event with his mother and sister.

As for YN, she's hunched over the toilet before she can even move to open her laptop to start her next paper.

When the pains in her stomach subside, over dry heaving due to her not even eating anything yesterday - she opens the lid of her laptop to finish her final paper for Sports & Media Journalism.

She opens another tab on her browser to pull up ESPN live television to watch the coverage on the draft pick - she wasn't going to miss watching Harry just because she was cross with him.

When she finds what she's looking for, she hits her volume as an advertisement plays across the screen for leak-proof tampons.

Her stomach sinks clear into the floor of her dorm room because something clicks inside her head that she hasn't had hers yet this month and she has been nauseous most mornings.

There's no way.

Is there?

Actually, maybe.

Now that she thinks back to about two months ago.

YN had usually taken her birth control pills religiously- rarely ever missed one or forgot to set an alarm to take it.

However, it was spring break and they were staying at Anne's house for nearly a week and they were both admittedly lax.

Harry and her had been sleeping in until mid-morning, sometimes into the afternoon, and lazing around by the pool or cuddled up watching movies.

It was a rare time he got a break from baseball.

YN usually took her pill as soon as she got up in the morning but sleeping in with her warm, sleep-soft boyfriend who wrapped himself around her like a vine was much more tempting than an alarm clock.

She knew better but hadn't thought much of it when she took her pills later than normal that whole week, notably forgetting to take them one of the days they were there and not realizing until they got home.

It didn't seem like a big deal at the time.

And YN knows exactly which time may had got her pregnant - if she was.

YN meant to remind Harry to pull out, he normally didn't have to because she was so responsible with the pill.

She meant to let him know that he should because she hadn't been that week and she should probably get back on track before he does.

It was the night they got home from Anne's, in Harry's frat bedroom because despite how horny Harry had been that whole week - the house was entirely too small for them to have sneaky sex.

The walls were thin, Anne's room was right next to theirs, and the room Gemma was in was on the other side - blocking them in.

The bedroom door didn't have a lock and had a tendency to drift open if there was a draft in the house.

Harry pouted like a little boy the whole time, begging YN to sneak into the bathroom with him or "Please baby, just give me your mouth."

But Harry can't shut up when he's receiving any kind of pleasure and the last thing YN wanted to do was get caught by his mother or sister in the act.

And so, when they got home from Anne's, Harry had carried their suitcases up to his room in the frat, taking the stairs by two in his haste - it was on.

As soon as they both were in his bedroom, he slammed the door shut so hard that the wood was trembling against its post and the metal of the doorknob was shaking in protest.

Harry lifted YN up, making her squeak in surprise as he sat her on his dresser - his lips capturing hers and his tongue pushing into her mouth without the patience to ask permission.

His hands were everywhere, acting like he's fucking starving as he barely breaks their kiss to yank her shirt and bra off of her, none to gently.

"Missed this perfect fuckin' body," Harry growled under his breathe as he roughly cups her breasts to bring to his mouth where he begins to nip and suck on her hardening nipples.

"Shit, H. It's only been a week," She giggles breathily as she yanks at the roots of his hair - making him moan through the sharp pain - slicking up her chest with his tongue.

"Need you everyday though," He emphasized as he pulls back to admire the marks he was leaving all over the softness of her breasts, "S'never enough, got the best cunt I've ever had."

YN gives his curls one more tug, enough his head bends a bit as she posessively murmurs, "Only one you've ever had, you brat."

Harry looks up from her tits with a toothy smile and sugary soft eyes as he presses their lips back together, "Yeah, yeah it is. S'cause you're my person, right? Been waiting my whole life to give it you."

"Don't have to charm me, already got me. C'mon," YN rolls her eyes, bringing their lips back together as his fingers curl into the waistband of her yoga pants and begin to pull them down - kneeling as he goes, lips trailing down her belly until she’s moaning with satisfaction as he licks up her center.

YN remembers only realizing they shouldn't have done that after the fact, when they're already in the shower cleaning themselves up.

She had brushed it off because she thought the likelihood of something happening was so low - she is starting to think that she is poorly mistaken.

YN doesn't realize that she is physically trembling until she's jolted from her stupor by Harry's name being announced over the speakers of her laptop.

She had zoned out, missed his whole introduction because when she looks back at the computer screen, she sees her devastatingly handsome boyfriend shaking hands with a few men before being handed a New York Yankees jersey.

Holy shit.

As she watches him accept his new team, his life is changed, he is moving forward to be successful as expected - he’s smiling widely on the screen, eyes twinkling, and they cut to Gemma and Anne tearful with pride for him.

YN was struck with fear that she just ruined something for him, scratch that not just something, she’s just ruined everything for him.

They were so so young.

Just starting their lives as adults and they were only twenty!

She had a mixture of confusing emotions stirring in her belly but before she tried to delve into those, she knew she shouldn't get ahead of herself before she took a test.

In her haze, she leaves her phone at home when she heads out to go to the drugstore - she picks one further off campus in hopes of no one paying any mind to her.

However, as she tucks the boxes into the crook of her arm, she hears someone calling her name and she freezes in surprise.

Niall is jogging up to her, a smile wide on his face, "Thought you'd be in Florida. New York Yankees, huh?"

He takes in her deer-in-headlights expression before his eyes dart down to the boxes that boldy indicate what they are and his eyes dart back up quickly.

"Please," YN whispers, feeling tears pool up in her eyes, she really didn't want to cry but she felt like this couldn't get worse, "I'm going to tell him bu-"

Niall cuts her off, his face soft and concerned, hand coming to her shoulder, "Hey, no tears, yeah? M'not gonna tell. It's your business, not anyone elses. Do you need anything?"

YN smiles watery, she loved Niall, he was such a good friend to both of them but she shakes her head and he tags along without asking any questions when she goes to check out.

When she gets back to her room, the event is still up on her computer and there is a decent amount of picks that have gone through already.

YN can hear her phone vibrating on her desk, she runs over - all her missed call notifications popping up, signaling that Harry had tried to call her multiple times in the past hour.

"Hello?" She asks into the phone, if she was in her right mind - she would have already realized that she should have called him and congratulated him on his achievement but she’d forgotten her phone.

"You're that fuckin' cross with me that you're not even going to call and tell me congratulations?" Harry bites out angrily before adding, "Been sitting 'ere, waiting for my phone to ring and nothing. Not one fuckin' word from you."

YN's mouth gaped open for a second in surprise, his voice was raised and sharp, it had a rumble that was from deep in his chest.

"I meant to call but -" YN tried to gather her thoughts, her mind was going every which way right now as she stared at the bright pink and blue patterns on the boxes in front of her.

"But what? There's literally no bloody excuse for you not to call me!" Harry bites out, his mouth sounds much too close to the receiver and she can hear muffled noises in the background.

"I'm-“

"Whatever, I'm not going to sit on the phone and listen to excuses. I needed you here and you didn't come. I bet you didn't even watch it, did you?" Harry accuses angrily, a tremble in the strain to keep his voice at a low volume, like there were people around.

"I did watch it," YN replies but she knows that she sounds dull, unexcited, numb because she's more concerned that she's about to ruin the life he just began than arguing over a phone call.

"Don't sound so thrilled," Harry scoffs - calling her bluff but the hurt is laced through his words, "Whatever. I'm not going to sit here and beg you to be happy for me all because of a little fight. I can’t believe you.”

Then the line goes dead.

YN feels like she's going to throw up.

She snatches up the boxes, going into the bathroom, and is ripping every single white plastic test out of the packaging before laying them next to the sink in preparation.

She had chugged a massive amount of water that she had purchased at the drugstore on her way home - which could have also contributed to her upset stomach.

YN stares at them for a long moment, she doesn't think her heart has ever raced so fast in her life because this will change the course of not only her future but Harry's too.

She sits down, does what she needs to do then reapplies the caps and places them on the counter as she sets her timer for three minutes.

YN tries to keep her mind blank but it isn't working - she knows Harry wants kids, wants kids with her but she also feels like this might ruin his dreams - getting this dream job and then dealing with the weight of the responsibility of a baby he didn't plan for with the woman he would resent because of it.

The shrill timer has her jumping from the edge of her bed, legs feeling like absolute gelatin as they drag her to the tiny dorm bathroom.

She looks at herself in the mirror, trying to convince herself that they'll be negative but when she darts her eyes down - they're all blaring the same word to her.

Pregnant.

YN's breath caught as she picked them up and examined the one with just the lines further before she let herself exhale, steadying her breathing.

She instinctively puts a hand to where her baby is being homed, a new emotion that she's never felt in her life crashes over her like a tsnaumi.

It was a warm, honeyed mixture of love, fierce protectiveness, and awe of what she and Harry had unknowingly created with their love.

Harry.

YN doesn't know what to do.

She doesn't know how he's going to take it.

YN rushes to her phone, picking it up to ring him and it only rings two or three times before he's sending her to voicemail and ignoring it.

It doesn't deter her, she's calling once, twice, three times before he finally answers out of annoyance of her persistence.

"What could you possibly want from me right now?" Harry growls in frustration over the line, a tone she’s never head him use with her, "Humor me."

YN freezes in panic, this isn't how she wants to tell him when he's already so angry with her.

What if he was planning on breaking up with her?

"I-I'm sorry," YN chokes outs, she feels like she might hyperventilate with the stress coursing through her body, the calmness that was there a minute ago disappearing, "I-I'm sorry."

There's a short pause.

"Baby," Harry breathes out, the softness that she's used to seeping into his tone, "Are you okay? I-"

"I can't-" YN stammers, squeezing her eyes shut and swallowing harshly, "I...I can't do this right now."

YN makes a rash decision, she hangs up the phone and presses the side button until the screen fades to black.

Then she's setting it on her desk, ignoring the fact that Harry is most likely desperately trying to call her back.

She couldn't fight with him anymore right now, not when she was having to process that she was growing another human inside of her.

YN feels the exhaustion of the past week and a half of morning sickness, sleep deprivation from finals, and arguments with Harry hit her like a ton of bricks.

Her eyes close the second her head hits her pillow.

There's a loud banging at her door which startles her out of her slumber, her bones feel heavy and her head hurts from the day.

She can tell time has passed because when she fell asleep it was only mid afternoon and now it was completely pitched dark outside of her dorm - the streetlights glimmering dully.

YN drags her feet, assuming it was mostly likely one of the frat boys who Harry sent over to check on her.

She knows she looks like a hot mess, face swollen, puffy eyes, and a bun that had her hair sticking every which way out of it.

"What do you want?" YN groans to get the banging to stop, unlocking and flinging open the door without another thought.

To her utter surprise, it was none other than her boyfriend who looked absolutely livid but at the same time, relieved that she was safe and okay.

He was wearing a New York Yankees tee and his normal athletic shorts and Nikes, his hair still nicely gelled from his television appearance earlier in the day - a bit of sunburn on his nose.

"What the fuck is going on?" Harry rasps, looking her body up and down, "Turning off your phone like that. What on Earth are you thinking?”

YN just...starts crying.

She buries her head in her hands and lets the sobs wrack through her body, shaking her head because she just can’t fight with him right now.

"Baby, baby," Harry responds, alarmed as he pushes himself into the room with her and shuts the door behind them, "Okay, darling. It's okay. I promise I was just cross, baby. Please, breaks my heart to see you cry like this.”

YN allows Harry to tug her straight into his strong chest, wishing that his warm scent could ground her like it usually does but it doesn't.

"I need you to talk to me. I need to know what's going on. You haven't acted like yourself at all today, sweetheart. I know I could have handled my anger better and I'm sorry, my love," Harry murmurs into her hair, lips brushing against her as he keeps her secured to him, his hand slipping under her shirt to rub at the warm skin of her back.

"Don't apologize," YN manages to spit out, "It's me, I'm...I'm messing everything up for you."

Harry pulls back until they make eye contact, his brow furrowed in confusion, "You're the best fuckin' thing that's ever happened to me. You've never ever messed anything up for me."

"Don't say that, please," YN whispers, shaking her head, "I have to tell you something."

Harry's eyes widen and an almost heartbreaking expression takes over his previously rigid one, "Baby...you didn't cheat on me?"

"God, Harry," YN can't help but wetly chuckle, "When would I have time? You're literally trying to get it every other second."

His face smooths out, a boyish smile appears for a moment until he's serious again, "What happened? What did you do that you think could mess up my life?"

YN lets out a loud exhale before detangling herself from him, she goes into the bathroom to gather the tests into her fist and swallows hard before coming back out.

Without making eye contact, she shoves them into his palm and watches nervously as the crease between his brow appears as he brings them up to examine them.

It takes him a moment before his eyes meet YN's, he says, "Tell me once again, how you think you could possibly be messing up my life?"

"I'm pregnant," YN whispers as if he doesn't have the tests in his hands, "It's not..it's not what you planned. you just started your career."

Harry tosses the plastic tests on the desk, striding towards his girlfriend, and hugging her so tightly that it nearly hurts before his lips on hers.

"Sweetheart, you're gonna give me a baby?" Harry asks sweetly, his eyes watering and he chuckles as he wipes away the tears that start to spill over.

"I am," YN smiles softly, unsure as she thumbs at the apples of his cheeks where his grin is so wide his eyes are squinted, dimples popping.

"How...How could you think I wouldn't be anything but excited?" Harry murmurs as his large hands start rucking up her shirt to palm at her belly, "Never been a secret that I wanted this with you. Always want you more than anything, that includes baseball."

YN buries her face into his chest, lets him rock them back and forth as she feels little sobs shake his chest.

"I can't believe we're gonna have a baby," Harry sniffles happily, "Never thought I was gonna find the one, you know? Wanted my whole life for you, didn't think you existed. Then you just come into my life and give me everything I ever wanted."

"You just started your whole life," YN still feels her lips quiver while Harry pecks them over and over again, hands rubbing over every inch of her tummy as if he’s saying hello to the baby.

"You're right," Harry agrees with a soft smile, he's trying to hold back a sob, "Got onto my dream team, got my dream girl, and now we're gonna have a little family."

YN shutters out a choked noise, shaking her head in denial still, "It's..It's...We're going to hold you back."

The curve of his lips drops, into something more stormy, his hands firmer on her hips as he makes eye contact, "Stop it now, okay? I want this baby. I want you. All of it. Nothing, nothing is more important than this."

YN nods in better understanding, wrapping her arms around his neck and bringing their lips together once more, "We're going to be parents."

Harry brings her as close as possible, she can feel his heartbeat thudding rapidly in his chest like after a long game.

She's confused when he pulls back, keeping her at arm's length before he's kneeling down, "I don't have a ring right now but I'm sure as hell making you my wife as soon as possible. Gonna be my wife and have my baby. I don't want this with anyone else, baby. I'm so god damn in love with you I'm stupid with it. Please darling, please marry me."

YN knows the shock on her face is visible, she must pause for a moment too long because Harry begins to speak again but YN is giggling and saying, "Of course, I'll marry you," before she's stepping forward and knocking him over with how much force she hugs him with.

It ends up with Harry splayed on his back on the carpet of her tiny dorm room, with her on top, kissing him and tugging at his shirt until she can pull it over his head.

"Gonna give it to your fiancé? Gonna show me what a good lil' wife you're gonna be?" Harry rumbles, the arousal already setting into his bravado as he moves to take off her top - squeaking when she bites his lip at his cooing tone.

It's not the wedding she thought she would have with Harry but that was okay - somehow what they ended up doing was way better than anything over the top or extravagant.

It's at City Hall, the witness being someone who happened to be in the courtroom that day - YN was dressed in a simple white dress, Harry in the same suit he wore to the draft pick.

By this point, her bump was just showing at nearly four months, so much had changed in that short time.

They both had graduated with their degrees, relocated to a small apartment in Manhattan, Harry was already in the first season of his new career.

It wasn't the luxurious lifestyle quite yet, they still had to budget their money and make sure they didn't eat out too much because Harry had yet to make any major money yet (oh, how that would change).

They knew their families would be upset they weren't invited to the wedding but it was something they just wanted to do for each other and the tiny baby growing in her stomach.

Harry sobs like an absolute baby when YN says "I do" and when it's made official Harry has both hands on the sides of her jaw and brings her in for a deep kiss before one palm moves to cradle her belly.

Harry was just starting his second season of the game, as soon as he had been drafted - he had been thrust onto the field.

It hadn't been a surprise when within a few weeks he was starting pitcher and on the hitting line-up.

YN traveled with him to nearly every game until it wasn't safe for her to fly anymore as she reached the end of her pregnancy.

The money had begun to appear in their bank account at an alarmingly fast rate, making Harry a multi-millionaire overnight.

They moved from the tiny one bedroom to a luxurious apartment in mere months because not only was he getting paid to play, the commision from his jersey and other memorabilia, then he signed multiple contracts with different brands like Nike and Smart Water for millions upon millions of dollars too.

YN had never seen Harry happier, they were both thriving, and they were loving the little life they created in New York City.

He couldn't be happier with his dream job, his wife, and his little baby on the way - however, he did struggle on the occasions where he was traveling for an extended period of time and was away from her.

"How are you feeling?" Harry murmurs, it's dimly lit in his hotel room - he's exhausted from a long game and the anxiety of being away from his wife.

"Bub is kicking up a storm," YN replies with her own smile, she moves the camera until it's on her belly - obvious against her taut skin when an elbow rolls into her side, "They miss you."

It was the wrong thing to say today.

Harry begins to sniffle on the other line, YN pulls the phone back to her where she can see Harry's eyes watering and he's rubbing his face against the sleeve of his shirt.

"I hate being away from you," Harry mumbles, rubbing his eyes before looking at the camera with a guilty expression, "I don't get it. All these guys have no problem going out and partying after every game and all I can do is miss you and the baby."

YN doesn't think anyone in the world would think The Harry Styles, newly twenty-one, millions of dollars at his disposal, and available girls at his fingertips wouldn't be partying after an impressive game - no instead he's in his hotel room tearful about how much he misses his wife.

YN decides empowerment would be the best course of action to make him feel better tonight, so that's what she does.

"H, you're being the best husband and daddy, you know?" YN reminds him, wishing she could cuddle him in this moment, "Providing for your family."

Harry seems to hear that, smiling a bit and nodding, "Anything for you two. I'd do whatever I had to, to provide for you."

YN has no qualms that she married the right man.

YN is about a week and a half away from her due date, her ankles swollen and the baby getting uncomfortably large in their home.

Harry had a photoshoot for a Nike advert in Manhattan today for a new line of running clothes that he was modeling for.

She had accompanied him, making herself as comfortable as possible on a sofa in the corner of the studio - sipping from a water bottle as she watched her husband.

He looked so fucking handsome is the thing, changing right there in front of everybody - showing off his rippled stomach, the sharp vee that leads into his shorts.

She couldn't lie and say it didn't do anything to her because the pregnancy hormones - well Harry hadn't been complaining with how often she was trying to get with him.

Harry had a late flight home, he fully expected YN to have been asleep by the time he dropped his duffel in the entryway of their flat.

However, when he trails into the living room, he's surprised by her sitting on their sofa, looking at him expectantly in just a tee of his and some soft-looking panties.

"Hi darling," Harry murmurs, his voice soft and low but she didn't look an ounce of tired as her eyes looked him up and down, "Not sleepy?"

"Mmm, was waiting up for you," YN agrees before casually tacking on, "So that you could fuck me."

Harry's eyebrows nearly shoot into his hairline, a warm zip of electricity making his cock twitch, "Baby, are you--"

"Don't," She complains brattily, heaving herself up and off the couch to trail over to him, wasting no time in getting his shirt off before he gets with the program and is taking over.

Harry groans loudly when his hand dips down into the front of her panties, "Fucking shit. This for me, sweet girl?"

"Please, m'so ready," YN huffs, not wanting any teasing like she usually does, "Harry, please. Stop messing around. Just want it.”

"Jesus, you're so fucking hot," Harry rumbles as he gently pushes her back onto the couch until she's laying down and he can crawl ontop of her, smiling more fondly when the large bump of her belly prohibts Harry from pressing himself against her like he wants.

“No, not like this,” YN complains after just a moment, pushing a confused Harry up until she can rearrange them until he’s sat up and she can lower herself down onto him to get deeper.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Harry gasps when she sinks all the way down, his mouth moving to lick at her sensitive and puffy nipples as she begins to lazily grind back and forth.

She isn’t rushed, completely lost in her own arousal as she moves her hips every which way to find where she can get the most friction on her clit and where he’ll be hitting her spot.

“No bloody wonder m’obsessed with you,” Harry remarks breathily when she begins to pick up the pace of her movements, eyes shut and head tilted back, pushing her chest further into his mouth as she mewls at her oncoming pleasure, “Never seen somethin’ better than this. All full of my baby, riding me like you own me. You do own me, baby.”

YN is taken out of her dirty daydream by a sharp pain to her side, it’s not like her usual jolts from when the bub kicks her too hard or throws an elbow.

Instead, she’s panicked when a gush of fluid seeps through her leggings and begins to drip down her legs - for a moment she thinks she wet herself until she realizes her water just fucking broke.

YN’s frozen for a moment, Harry’s currently giving the flashing cameras a dazzling smile in a mesh top and matching shorts.

The ache she felt moments ago resurfaces but feels more visceral this time, making her toes curl at the pain that radiates through her whole body.

She doesn’t feel like she can stand up, not without help, and there’s no one right near her but she doesn’t want to cause a scene by yelling for him.

After another contraction rocks her, it’s involuntary when she cradles her stomach and lets out a low moan of pain that has everyone turning their head to look.

Harry’s rushing from the white backdrop, over to the couch to knee down, when his hands come to rest on her thighs he notices the wet fabric underneath his fingertips.

“H,” YN whimpers, reaching to place her hands on his shoulders, “The baby’s co-coming,” She stutters over a contraction.

Harry goes into serious husband mode, “Okay, okay darling. We have to get you to the hospital. You’re doing perfect already. Let me help you up.”

YN gets to her feet, gripping her husband’s forearm hard when a cramp radiates through her stomach, and Harry just presses his lips to her clammy forehead until it passes.

“Alright, honey. I need you to push on three,” The doctor at the end of the bed instructs as the nurses flit around to prepare for the arrival of their child.

YN nods, holding Harry’s hand tightly as she pushes as hard as she can for five long seconds before slumping back down onto the bed and panting.

“Okay, we’re gonna give you a minute break then try again,” Dr. Dicer instructs before smiling reassuringly at the young couple.

“You’re doing so good,” Harry murmurs against her temple, pecking all over her sweaty face and rubbing his thumb over her knuckles, “You’re so so close. I’m so fuckin’ proud of you.”

“I just want our baby,” YN huffs between gasps of catching her breath, “Just want our baby, H.”

“Soon, soon we’re gonna have them, huh?” Harry smiles happily, his hands were shaking with nervousness and excitement all in one, “We’ll have our baby. Be a family.”

“Yeah, we wi- ohh,” YN cuts off in a groan, scrunching her face up and crying out, “I have to push. I can’t stop-“

“It’s okay, mom,” The doctor reassured her, settling back into position, “The baby’s ready to join us. Only a few more pushes than you’ll be parents.”

Harry’s eyes widen when he looks down to see brown wisps of hair as the baby begins to make its entrance into the world push by push.

“Darling,” Harry’s lower lip is wobbling as she bears down to give it all of her might and he nearly chokes on his own breath when in the next minute the doctor is holding a squirming, unhappy crying baby up.

“It’s a boy! Congratulations mom and dad,” Dr. Dicer announces before laying the baby boy on YN’s bare chest as he lets out little bouts of wails.

“Oh my god,” YN giggles between tears, her fingers coming to touch the baby’s strands of damp hair before tracing over his tiny facial features, “Harry, baby. Harry, look.”

“I’m looking,” Harry sniffles, his thumb coming to rub at the baby’s forehead before the nurses swoop in to perform all the necessary tests, “He’s perfect, he’s so fucking perfect. Look how good you did. Did such a good job at giving us our baby, mama.”

It’s the first time the nickname slips from his mouth but far from the last time.

After he’s cleaned up, giving a clean bill of health, and done with their assessments - the nurse asks Harry if he’d like to have skin-to-skin contact.

YN has to chuckle to herself, in her hazy mind as Harry takes off his shirt and the two nurses' eyes widen when they see what’s hiding underneath- checking out his chiseled chest down to where his happy trail leads into his shorts.

It’s forgotten when Harry sits in the chair next to the bed and brings his son to his chest, the baby’s cheek resting against his pec as Harry rubs down their back.

And he just loses it.

Harry’s full on sobbing as he hugs his son to him, tears running down his cheeks and chest shaking with emotion as he kisses the top of the baby’s head.

Harry had just had another failed date, defeated as he drags his feet back up to his room in the frat house to change out of his nice outfit.

There isn’t any reason he shouldn’t have feelings for the girl he was just out on a date with, she was pretty, smart, and they even went to the same yoga studio.

He thought it was going good, he even agreed to go back to her apartment with her but when they were watch some dumb romantic comedy and her hand went to rub at him through his pants - nothing happened.

Harry felt defeated as he made up some bullshit excuse that he was tired from all the work-outs and games, that’s the only reason he couldn’t get it up.

But in reality, it was because there wasn’t a connection with the girl and he didn’t feel like he could even create one with her.

This had been his reality for his full life, he’s ashamed to admit when he got home from that date - he laid in bed and cried because he didn’t think that he would ever find someone who he could be close to, let alone be in a relationship with.

Now he was sitting here with the love of his life and their baby - something he truly had believed may never happen for him.

YN brings him back to reality when she reaches over to stroke his cheek, concerned in her eyes at how much he’s crying.

“M’okay,” Harry laughs quietly, a bit embarrassed as he kisses the palm of his wife’s hand, “I just..I’ve never been happier than I am right now.”

YN smiles back at him, tired and loving, “I’ve never been happier either.”

“Just you, me, and Easton,” Harry murmurs adoringly as he kisses his son’s head, “I’ll never need anything else but you two. Only thing that matters to me.”

💕

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